


You Can Always Go Home

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Case Fic, F/M, Men of Letters, Men of Letters Bunker, Stanford, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Henry Winchester casts his time travel spell as seen in 8.12, it brings him to Stanford University in 2005. More specifically, it brings him to the apartment of young psychic Sam Winchester and his witch fiancee, Jess Moore. Abaddon follows. Can Sam, Jess and the Men of Letters reconnect with the hunters in their family in time to stop a bloody rampage?</p><p>And what about the Yellow-Eyed Demon?  How will his plans be affected by the sudden appearance of a Knight of Hell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://madebyme_x.livejournal.com](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Fmadebyme_x.livejournal.com).



Sam stretched his long limbs and wallowed in the comfort of the morning.  He should get up.  The fact it was the end of fall term didn’t give him an excuse to be lazy.  He should go for a run.  He should get going with his yoga, or his meditation.  He was done with undergrad but it never hurt to get a little extra studying in, or he could get a bit of billable translation work done.  Then there was the cleaning.  Sam hadn’t realized how much grime and grunge could build up in a small apartment when two people lived there, day in and day out, for more than six weeks at a time, but he refused to let it get the best of him.  If he could take out a werewolf or a water sprite, he could conquer clutter and soap scum.

            Jess rolled over and made a grumpy sound at him.  He laughed and kissed the side of her head, getting pillow-muffled obscenities and a mouthful of blonde curls for his trouble.  Jess was not a morning person.  It was one more way she grounded him here, in the world of Stanford and of safety.  Technically Winchesters weren’t morning people either, but they didn’t have the luxury of having  preferences.  There was always something to be killed, no matter how early the hour.  “Love you too,” he murmured into her ear before forcing himself out from between the covers.

            The apartment might be small but it was warm, comfortable and safe.  He could easily just hole himself up in here and hide out for the next sixty years or so, just him and Jess, secure against whatever storms might blow up in the outside world.  It wasn’t the most practical of ideas, of course; getting food could prove to be problematic, and there was the matter of classes and things.

            And those external “storms” were a lot smarter than Sam had ever expected.  He and Jess had the apartment warded sixteen different ways from Sunday, and carried hex bags to boot.  That hadn’t stopped a demon from possessing Tyson Brady, one of their nearest and dearest friends, in an attempt to kill Jess and drive Sam somehow back into his family’s arms.  How that logic worked Sam had no idea; if it hadn’t been for Jess’ knowledge he might have found out the hard way.

            Either way, the demon in Brady had gotten close – too close.  Sam couldn’t afford to get complacent.  He wasn’t getting back into the hunting business – God no, he wasn’t suicidal – but he wasn’t about to turn himself into easy prey either.  He slipped his running clothes on, stretched a bit, and eased himself out into the light chill of the December morning.

            He couldn’t hold back a grin as his feet pounded out a route over the familiar pavement.  He’d done it.  No one had thought he could – no one from the old days, anyway.  Even he’d had his doubts, but apparently insomnia had its advantages.  He’d finished his undergraduate work a full semester early, and he had a full ride for law school waiting for him in the fall.  He had an apartment, with his name on the lease and everything, and a wonderful woman to share the apartment with.  He had a future – a future that he could look forward to, a future to live for.

            He missed his brother.  Not a day passed when he didn’t pause and think, “Wow, I wish Dean could see this,” or, “Dean would get a kick out of that.”  For a while, when Sam and Jess had been apartment-hunting Sam had held out hope that they’d find a two-bedroom within their means that worked for them.  Jess had finally brought him around to seeing reason.  “When’s the last time you heard from them?”

            “Jess, that’s not the point,” he’d told her with a sigh.

            “It’s exactly the point, sweetie.  We’ll get a fold-out couch and if he comes to visit he’ll be fine on that, but it’s not right to expect you to scrimp and keep a room open for him when they changed their phone numbers before your bus even left the station.”

            For a while Sam had held out hope. Every day he thought, today will be the day that Dean proves her wrong; today will be the day that Dean shows up on their doorstep ready to stand by his brother, but as the months went on even he had to admit that it wasn’t likely.  And that even if he had, it wouldn’t have lasted once he’d figured out what he and Jess really were.

            So while he missed his brother terribly, he’d come to accept that the separation was permanent and probably for the best.  Instead, he focused on the future and had to admit that it looked good.  As good as a future without Dean could be, at any rate.

            His musings took him a little farther than usual, but that was okay.  He liked to switch up his route a little bit anyway.  Keep anyone who might be tracking him off his trail.  As he turned up the street leading back to the apartment, though, he felt a jolt of power running through his body, very much like electricity.  It wasn’t enough to knock him out or even knock him down, but it was enough to give him a burst of speed.  He recognized the feeling of magic touching his soul, but the nature of the spell felt alien and unfamiliar.  That couldn’t be good.  He needed to get to Jess.

            He found her on her feet in the bedroom, long blonde hair billowing behind her and teeth clenched against something.  Her skin glowed with power and she held an iron knife in a defensive posture from the corner of the room.  “Sam,” she said, sparing a quick glance at him.  “You felt that.”

            “Who wouldn’t?”  Okay, almost any of their friends would have been blind to whatever the  surge had been.  Jess was a witch. She was used to sensing fluctuations in the unseen energies of the universe.  Sam was just a freak.  “Anything you’ve run up against before?”

            She shook her head.  “I don’t like it, babe.”

            He reached into a drawer underneath the bed and grabbed his favorite knife, the iron one with the weird curved blade.  He’d had it for years, since he’d been a little kid.  Pastor Jim had given it to him.  “Guess we’d better be ready.”

            Not, he supposed, that they could really be “ready” for whatever kind of attack could get through their wards.  All they could do was hunker down and react, and if it could get through the kind of mojo they’d laid down – well, Sam wasn’t sure what they could do.  That feeling of surging power increased, like feedback on an amplifier, and the windows and doors started to shake.

            Jess glanced at him.  “Was that you?”

            Sam shook his head, side-eyeing his girlfriend.  He hadn’t lost control of his telekinesis since freshman year – not since she’d helped him figure things out.  Had she really not felt that surge?  Whatever – he could analyze later.  Right now they had bigger fish to fry.  That energy seemed to be coming from the closet, a theory that was proven when the closet filled with light.

            Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the energy evaporated with an audible “pop.”  Sam looked at Jess.  Jess looked at Sam.

            The doorknob turned, just a little bit.

            Sam reached out with his mind and opened the closet door.  He’d rather be the one in control of the encounter, if the encounter had to happen at all.

            It wasn’t any kind of creature from the deep, no misshapen product of the void, that popped out of the carefully arranged storage space.  That wasn’t the biggest surprise in the world; most monsters looked like humans.  Hell, look at Sam.  This one wasn’t any different.  He was maybe an inch taller than Jess, if Sam had to guess, with dirty-blond hair and clothes that had to be about fifty years out of date, not that Sam was much of a judge.  The slender, pale man staggered out into the bedroom and collapsed onto the floor, falling face-first onto the throw rug Jess had insisted they had to have.

            The man lay in a heap for a moment, gasping for air, and Sam felt bad for him for a second.  His suit, however nice it had once been, had blood on it, and for a guy who dressed so fastidiously his hair seemed pretty disheveled.  Then, the man looked up with beautiful light eyes that reminded Sam of Dean and ground out, “John?”

            Sam’s blood ran cold.  “Sorry.  Wrong Winchester.  Wrong closet.”  He huffed and stepped back, lip curling.  “You know your way out.”

            The stranger’s face wrinkled in confusion and he scrambled to his feet.  “The spell was supposed to take me to John Winchester!”

            Jess’ eyes bulged.  “Trust me, buddy.  No one who can cast spells wants to go anywhere near John Winchester.”  She shook her head.  “Who are you and why did you teleport into our closet?”

            The stranger’s lips pressed together in an all-too-familiar expression of impatience and frustration.  “It wasn’t teleportation, it was time travel, and –“

            “Time travel.”  Sam scoffed.  “Right.”  Something scratched at the walls of his mind, demanding his attention, but he couldn’t identify it.  Whatever it was seemed to be calling to something inside him, almost in his blood, and that had only ever meant one thing in Sam’s experience.  He’d never felt a stirring like this, though, and that couldn’t be good.   

            “What year is this?”  The stranger looked around himself.

            “2005,” Jess snapped.  “And my eyes are up here.”

            “Apologies.”  The man snapped his eyes up to Jess’.  “The attire is… different from what I’m accustomed to.  Where is John Winchester?”

            “Hopefully far from here.”  Jess crossed her arms over her chest.  “Why do you want him?”

            The man blinked.  “He’s my son.”

            Sam shook his head, struggling to parse both the conversation and the sense of impending doom.  “Your son.”  A hysterical giggle welled up in his throat; he forced it down.  “Right.  Okay.  Look.  Whoever you are, wherever you zapped in from, who did you bring with you?”

            “No one.  At least I shouldn’t have –“  His face paled.

            Sam grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the door.  “Out.  Now.  Jess?”

            Jess was already reaching for her bathrobe.  “What is it, babe?”

            “Feels demonic,” Sam told her, but that was all he could get out by the time that another surge pulsed through the closet.  This one came with an attendant blast of sulfur that had Sam gagging and that something in his blood crying out for something – something else, something he couldn’t quite identify.

            Then a woman walked out – walked, rather than staggered – and gave all three of them a perfectly poised smile.  Sam could feel the power radiating off of her, the power and the menace.  She wore a formal, pale blue gown with a pretty string of pearls, but the gown was stained with blood.  Her hair, though, was perfectly coiffed.  “Oh, what’s this?  A lovely little family reunion?  How sweet.”  She shook her head and pursed her full, red lips at the strange man, who staggered back.

            “How are you here?” he asked.

            She wagged a finger at him.  “Spellwork was never your strong suit, Henry.  I’m surprised you ended up here instead of on the moon, honestly.  And what’s this?  It’s a Winchester, but it’s something more, too.”  She smiled at Sam, eyes black as coal.  “Fascinating.  Even when you screw up, Henry, you come up smelling like a rose.”

            “Abaddon,” Henry growled, turning to fully face the demon.  “Go back to your own time; there’s nothing for you here.”

            “Not until I’ve taken care of you, handsome.”  She gestured and Henry flew into the wall.   _There goes the deposit_ , Sam thought wildly, even as he met Jess’ eyes.  She nodded at him.

            Jess made a complicated gesture with her hands; Sam had learned as much as he could from Jess, but the minute and elegant hand gestures of her style of magic so far eluded him.  She hissed out a word in Old Slavonic and the demon laughed.  “Really?  You think a witch like _you_ can trap something like _me?_  Please.  I’m a Knight of Hell, girl.  I can offer you power like you’ve never imagined.  But you can’t hold me for more than a few seconds.”

            She couldn’t, Sam could see that just as easily as he could see his own hand.  He held out his arm, letting Jess draw on his energy to fuel her spell as he let the exorcism flow from his lips.  He’d thought Jess was being ridiculous when she’d told him that he needed to learn this stuff; his father hadn’t even mentioned demons to him, and Dad had been the most paranoid person about the supernatural that Sam’d ever met.  Now he had the damn thing memorized.

            Abaddon fought the exorcism, screaming loud enough to move furniture, but Jess held onto her.  Sam could feel his girlfriend making use of the energy within him, but he kept the exorcism going.  Finally the demon’s stolen body threw back her head and screamed, regurgitating a quantity of black smoke that should have been physically impossible.  Abaddon, in her true demonic form, couldn’t exist within the apartment; she had to be in a host body.  This was the nature of the wards that Sam and Jess had put up, and it banished the demon from the house without further trouble.

            The woman who’d been possessed collapsed to the ground.  Henry was at her side in a flash, checking her airway and pulse.  Jess fell to her knees beside her only a moment behind.  Sam crouched behind Jess, a hand on her back.  The effort of holding Abaddon had been more than she would want to show in front of Henry, but Sam could feel her muscles tremble and see the shake of her hand.  “She’s alive,” Henry gasped.

            “Sam,” Jess said, and her voice betrayed her weariness.  “Make sure that portal is closed and sealed.  Then open up the couch.  She’s going to need it.  We can get an air mattress for this guy.”

            Sam stood and walked into the closet.  He didn’t know much about spells or spellcasting, certainly not enough to close a portal from the past to the present.  Of course, he could see a sigil scrawled onto the wall.  He didn’t recognize it, but breaking the sigil should break the spell opening the door, right?  He ran into the bathroom and grabbed a Magic Eraser, chuckling a little at the name and wondering if he could get a sponsorship out of the company given the use he was about to put it to.

            After he’d gotten rid of the sigil, he made new wards all over the apartment.  This might have been his first encounter with Abaddon, but he knew the name.  Anyone who’d glanced at a book about demonology had heard the name, and could find the sigils for her.  Within fifteen minutes the apartment was warded against Abaddon specifically.  Then he got the foldout couch ready for the first time since they’d bought it.

            He hefted the redheaded possession survivor into his arms and carried her into the living room.  Henry followed.  Sam got the impression that he didn’t miss much, but most of his attention seemed to be reserved for the redhead.  He left them alone and went to tend to Jess, who would want to be left alone to recover from her exertions.

            Sam longed to shower; he still reeked from his run, and lending his energy to Jess hadn’t exactly been a low-key activity either.  Still, he had other responsibilities.  He changed quickly into jeans and a tee shirt with a hoodie and found something for Henry to wear, grabbing something from Jess’ stash for the redhead.  He knew she wouldn’t mind.  Then he went back out into the living room.

            Henry had pulled a folding chair up next to the couch and was sitting next to it, staring at the inert form of the formerly possessed woman.  Sam bit his lip.  He didn’t know what to believe at this point.  This guy – he’d claimed to be John Winchester’s father.  Sam’s grandfather, technically, although that hardly counted for anything.

            John had always blamed his father for abandoning him, and the family.  Sam had always suspected that there might have been other factors there – after all, John didn’t see what he did as abandonment, but if he’d been killed while out there fighting something the end result would have been the same.  Once, when John had been deep into a conversation with Mr. Cuervo and had forgotten which son he was rambling at, he’d admitted that Henry had left pretty much everything behind, even his clothes, which was more than he had when he’d traveled for work.  Funny how Henry had traveled for work too; maybe that was why John didn’t think of it as abandonment.  And when time travel got mixed into the equation – well, that threw everything off.

            Not, Sam reminded himself, that Winchester dynamics should matter for him anymore.  He was disowned, disinherited, and his grandfather would want to feed him to the wolves as soon as he recognized what Sam was, just like his father had.  It was best just to help them move along and get them out as soon as they were able, even if he burned with curiosity about the grandfather he’d never known and – was that possibly his grandmother?  A girlfriend, a mistress?  A close friend?

            He cleared his throat and held out the clothes.  “I grabbed you something to change into.”  He put the bundle on the armrest of the couch and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.  “It’s not a style like you’re used to, I guess, but you won’t stand out as much.  I get the sense that’s going to be important in the next few weeks.”

            “Thank you.”  Henry swallowed and tore his eyes away from the woman who had been taken by Abaddon.  “I didn’t – I’m sorry.  We weren’t introduced.  The – Abaddon said you were a Winchester.”

            “I’m Sam.”  Sam hesitated, then held out a hand and shook the other man’s.  “Sam Winchester.”

            Henry nodded.  “Henry.  You’re related to John, then?”

            “He’s my father.”  Sam rubbed the back of his neck.

            “Is he…”  Henry let his voice trail off, the alternative too awful to contemplate.

            “As far as I know, John is alive.  We haven’t spoken in close to four years.”

            Henry’s eyes bulged and he turned to look his grandson in the eye.  “What?  Why?  You’re clearly progressing with your training; is he not your sponsor?”

            Sam grinned, just a little.  “I don’t know anything about a sponsor, or what kind of training you’re thinking of.  But John disowned me and I respect his decision.  It’s okay.  I’m doing alright.”  Sam stood up straighter.  “So.  You’re obviously in the know about all the… you know.  All this.”  He waved his hand around the room, hoping the older man got his meaning.

            “I’m familiar with the world beyond the mundane, yes.”  Henry rolled his eyes.  “It was the eve of my initiation when Abaddon attacked.  I cast the spell to bring me forward, hoping my son would come back with me and help to fight Abaddon off.”  His lips twitched.  “It brought me to you instead.”

            “Sorry about that.”  Sam glanced at the woman on the couch.  “Can I ask who she is?”

            “Her name is Josie Sands.  She was also an initiate – the first female Man of Letters.”  At Sam’s blank look, Henry shook his head.  “Your father told you none of this.”

            “I’m pretty sure my – I’m pretty sure John’s never heard of a group called the Men of Letters.  If he did, he never mentioned them to me.”  Sam shrugged.  “We don’t speak, but I might be able to reach out to some people and see if they can help get the two of you in touch with each other.”

            Henry’s wide eyes and pale face betrayed his shock.  “You’ve never heard of the Men of Letters?  But – but you’re a legacy!  And your wife – she drew from your energy to cast that spell, she was a spell worker herself!”

            Sam met Henry’s eyes.  “I’d count it as a personal favor if you didn’t tell John, or anyone else, about any of that.  Ever.”

            “Sam – why?”  Henry stood up and blinked at him, confusion clear on his face.  “You and your wife saved me; you saved Josie!”

            Sam sighed.  “Henry – I don’t know what this Men of Letters thing is.  And obviously you’re cool with the whole spellcasting thing, which is great.  But here’s the thing.  John’s a hunter, and he’s a pretty hard-nosed hunter at that.  He’s not going to have a lot of interest in who got saved; he’s just going to want to kill the casters, you understand me?”

            Sam patted him on the shoulder and tried not to feel bad about the stricken look on his face.  Instead, he went to go look for Pastor Jim’s phone number.  He didn’t make a big deal about the power having gone out; if the others hadn’t noticed, he wasn’t going to make a thing of it either.

*

            Dean groaned and fumbled for the ringing phone.  For whatever reason, his fingers felt like they’d been wrapped in wool or something.  Oh wait – they had.  Stupid motel blankets, they got tangled around the dumbest things.  “’lo?” he grunted, once he finally found the thing.

            “Dean.”  Bobby Singer’s voice crackled across the line, irritation managing to arc across the waves like static.  “Are you still drunk from last night?”

            Dean thought about it.  “Don’t think so.  Gimme a couple of minutes and I’ll get back to you.”  Drunk or sober, he had a killer headache.  All the bar had had last night had been rum, and if going head to head drinking shots with his dad was a bad idea going head to head drinking shots of rum with his dad was a worse idea.  God, but it felt like something had crawled into his mouth and died, actually died, and considering their line of work that wasn’t necessarily an unreasonable assumption.

            “Look.  I ain’t got time to poke around after you and wait for your princess-and-the-pea liver to catch up.  This is important.  There’ve been signs out in California, Dean.”

            Well, if he’d been half-drunk when he woke up he wasn’t now.  No one said “signs” like that if they meant something innocuous.  “You mean like… like _the_ demon.”

            On the other end of the line, Bobby took a deep breath and let it out.  “Not exactly.  Not quite the same.  But big.  Could be another big nasty that wants to put a cork in whatever your boy’s cooking up, who knows.  It ain’t like demons are known for their loyalty.”

            “Shit.”  Dean rubbed at his face with his free hand.  “You told Dad any of this yet?”

            “You know your dad and I don’t talk, Dean.”

            “Well you did chase him off your property with a shotgun.”

            “And I’ll do it again if he ever shows his face around the scrapyard.  That don’t apply to you, of course.  I could always use an extra hand around here, you know.  The scrapyard ain’t gonna run itself.”

            “It’s Dad, Bobby.”  Dean let his tone say what his words wouldn’t.  If he wasn’t going to turn his back on Dad for Sammy, he wasn’t going to do it for Bobby.  “What kinds of signs?”

            “Looks like there was a huge power outage, starting in Palo Alto and working its way out.  The entire Bay Area went dark for about six hours.  Blood banks all over the region had to throw out all of their supplies, because everything they had on hand boiled and turned to sludge.”  Dean heard Bobby take a sip of something.  “Power came back on, but it was one hell of a mess.  Pun intended.”

            Dean groaned.  Bobby’s sense of humor was bad enough, but hung over and before coffee?  “Okay.  Is anyone on it?”

            “No one I know of.”

            Dean worried at his lip and then dropped his voice.  He had his own room, but the walls were thin; no sense in creating trouble, after all.  “Have you heard from Sam?  I know he’s out there; is he okay?”

            The salvage yard owner snorted.  “Now Dean, you know I ain’t heard from your brother since he was what, twelve?  Can’t imagine he’d want to call me up on the phone, either, not after all that.  But as it happens, I do know someone who _did_ hear from your brother.  He’s fine, he made it through the blackout without burning his apartment down.”

            “We checked on him.  When there were all those signs for demons in the area.”  Dean leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes.  It hadn’t been so much of a “we” as just Dean, hoping to get his brother’s help in finding his father, but he hadn’t been able to get near the apartment.  He’d tried, but every time he’d gotten close something had come along to steer him away – construction, water main breaks, random party amoebas coming along and sweeping him along…

            “That’s great, Dean.  I’m sure he’s real appreciative.  Seeing as how you didn’t let him know and everything.”  Bobby growled a little.  “Whatever.  Not my problem.  Your daddy makes the rules, you live by them, I get that.  It ain’t me you’ve got to sit there and try to convince that you’re somehow doing right by the boy, okay?  I’m just an old man who hears things.”  

            Dean swallowed down a flare of irritation that held more than a bit of guilt mixed in.  “What are you hearing about him, Bobby?”

            “Jesus, boy!  Maybe you should call me back when you get some coffee!  You brought him up, not me.  He’s fine, as far as I know.  Jim did ask me to tell you that someone came by his place looking for your daddy, though.”

            Dean chortled.  “I’ll bet that went over like a lead balloon.”

            “I couldn’t say.  He did say that the guy seems to be a human, not a shifter or nothin’, and that the guy’s got information on whatever this new big bad is.  So maybe your dad should call Pastor Jim and make arrangements to meet up with this guy or something, I don’t know.”

            Dean scratched his head.  “How come you’re calling instead of Pastor Jim?”

            “They had a falling out a couple of years back.  Figured it would be best if the message came through you.”

            Dean sighed.  Sometimes he wondered if it ever occurred to his father that everyone he’d ever worked with eventually had a “falling out” with him.  Maybe that was why he’d kept such tight control over his sons – so that he’d have backup that couldn’t fall out with him.  That hadn’t worked out so well, not with the younger one at least, but at least John still had Dean.  “I’ll see what I can do.  No promises.”

            “All I can ask for, Dean.  Give me a call when you’ve got some kind of game plan.  I’ve got a feeling that this one might be big.  You might need some backup for this.”

            “Will do, Bobby.”  Dean forced a little smile before hanging up the phone.  Well, this wasn’t too big of a job.  Wake up his undoubtedly hung-over father, tell him that the son he’d disowned was helping some stranger to track John down, and that guys that John no longer worked with had evidently decided that it was a good idea that Sam should do so.  Fantastic.

            Well.  There was one way for him to approach this problem, and that was with offerings.  Dean showered and got dressed, and then he walked over to the diner a couple of doors down and got a couple of nice, greasy breakfasts to go.  By the time he returned he could hear his father stirring in his own room.  Excellent.  Dean might not be good for much but his timing was impeccable.  He knocked on the door.

            His father answered.  Someone who didn’t know John as well as Dean might not have recognized the hangover.  Dean, though, Dean could see the way he flinched back ever so slightly from the light, the way he grimaced at the sudden movement of the door.  Well, at least the rum had affected him too.  “What is it, Dean?”

            Dean pushed his way into the room.  “I grabbed coffee and breakfast.  Thought it might be a good idea.”  He set the sacrifices down carefully on the chipped table.  “Got eggs and toast and coffee, just the way you like them.”

            John grunted and turned to his journal, lying on his bed.

            “So.  I, uh, I heard from some folks, and they think they’ve found a case.”  Dean licked his lips.  “They think it’s a big one.”

            His father raised his eyebrow.  “And they brought it to you?”

            Dean bit his tongue and counted to five.  “Well, they didn’t think you’d be thrilled to hear from ‘em.”  He shrugged.  Honesty was always the best policy with Dad.  The thing was, you had to apply it in the right way, at the right time, or you might as well just keep your mouth shut.  Sammy hadn’t ever learned that.  “But they thought it was big enough that you should know about it, so they called me.”

            John hesitated, hand hovering right over his journal.  Dean had never read the journal.  His father had ordered him not to, so he hadn’t.  It was simple.  He’d love to; the knowledge hidden away inside there, the information, would have saved his ass a time or two when they’d been separated.  It would have spared him some scars, anyway.  But Dad hadn’t had any such thing to go by and he’d learned.  Maybe he meant for Dean to learn the same way.  Dean trusted him.  “Okay.  So what’s this big job that they sent my son in to do their dirty work?”

            Dean sucked in a breath.  Dad’s tone was dangerous; he’d have to tread carefully.  “Demon signs.  Big ones, out in California.”

            “ _The_ demon?”  John turned on one heel to face Dean, bearing down on the rickety table faster than the eye could follow.

            “They don’t think so.  The signs aren’t quite right.  A little bit different.  But that blackout in the Bay Area didn’t happen because of some car crash into a substation like the news reports said.”  Dean was very proud of the way his hand didn’t shake as he brought a fork full of eggs to his mouth.

            John grunted again, but took a seat.  “Must be a pretty big demon to black out the whole Bay Area.”

            “I guess.”  Dean shrugged.  If it was a demon, they were screwed.  Dad hadn’t taught them anything at all about demons when they’d been kids; had only even told Dean that they were real after Sam had taken off.  Let him in on the big secret, like he could finally speak freely now that it was just the grownups.  They didn’t know much.  They knew holy water and salt.  Dad had dug up an exorcism somewhere that they’d never managed to use.  They had no way of taking a demon down permanently.  “Anyway.  Jim Murphy says he’s hearing from a guy who says he’s got some intel on this new demon.  Says he wants to talk to you.”

            Dad’s head shot up, pupils the size of some purely theoretical particles.  “Me?  Why?”

            Sometimes Dean wondered if his father had been like this before Mom died, if the paranoia had been there but mitigated by something else.  There must have been some hint, right?  Some glimpse that those tendencies existed?  Dean knew that he had more than a healthy dose of paranoia himself, but that was different.  It had been trained into him, in between “trust no one” and “look out for Sammy.”  Dad, though, he took it to a whole new level.  “I don’t know,” he said, sipping from his coffee.  “Jim didn’t say.  Maybe it’s because of your reputation?  Just says that he’s sure the guy’s human.”

            It was best, Dean knew, to leave Sammy out of this entirely.  The thought bothered him, but he couldn’t see any other way to pass the information along.  Dad needed to know about this guy, and maybe needed to know what he had to say.  If he knew that Sam was involved in any way – well.  Dean would have liked to pretend that it would all be sweetness and light, that they’d all get together and have a happy reunion, that Sam would take his place behind Dean where he belonged again, but Dean was nothing if not realistic.

            “Hm.”  John’s eyes narrowed.  “Where does this guy want to meet up?”

            “I don’t know, sir.”  Dean held himself back from rolling his eyes.  Did his father think Dean had some kind of psychic connection with the guy whose name Dean didn’t even know?  “I can call Pastor Jim and try to set something up, but it seems like the guy’s being as secretive as one of us would be.  It could take a while.”

            John scratched at his beard.  “You think he’s another hunter?”

            “Could be.  Could be, sir.”  Dean took another forkful of food.

            John chewed in silence for a moment.  “I can’t help but think that it’s unlikely to be a coincidence – two big demons making a show at the same time.”

            Dean shrugged.  He didn’t know much about demonic politics, and he cared less.  “Couldn’t say, sir.  Probably not, I guess.”

            “Not if they’re showing up in the same place.”  John sighed.  “I can’t just ignore it.”  He made a face.  “Damn it.  I wanted to go check out that haunted asylum.”

            Dean shrugged.  “It’ll still be there when we’ve dealt with this demon thing.  And this demon thing might not be _the_ demon, but it might net us a lead, right?”  He forced a grin.  If they pursued this lead, they might get some news about Sammy beyond, “He’s not dead.”  Maybe, just maybe, Dean might catch a quick glimpse of him out of a car window.  It was a long shot, but the hope was there nevertheless.  “That’s the thing about abandoned buildings.  They almost never go anywhere, and if they do they’re not a problem anymore.”

            John gave a grudging nod.  “I suppose you’re right.  Go ahead and give that bastard preacher a call when you’re done with your breakfast.  Don’t give away our position, but we could be persuaded to meet with whoever his contact might be on sacred ground.”

            Dean nodded.  That was smart thinking.  Most demons couldn’t set foot on sacred ground.

            They finished their breakfast in mutually agreeable silence and Dean scurried back to his room to make the call.

            Jim Murphy sounded happy to hear from him.  He always had, even though he’d been closer to Sammy when they were kids.  It had been the discovery that Sam had used Jim’s mailing address for college applications, while Jim knew that John would resent it, that had led to their current estrangement.  “Dean!  How are you?  It’s good to hear your voice!”

            Dean swallowed down his own resentment.  Dad hadn’t been the only one betrayed, after all.  “I’m okay.  You know.  Hunting things, saving people.  It’s the job.  Listen, Bobby Singer said that some guy showed up on Sam’s doorstep saying that he wanted to meet with Dad.”

            Jim cleared his throat; it sounded for a moment like he was tugging at his collar, like it was too tight or something.  “Yeah.  Yes, Dean.  I haven’t met the man myself.  But Sam says he’s human, if a little odd, and I’m willing to take his word for it.”

            Dean snorted.  “No offense, padre, but there’s lots that Sam doesn’t know.  That Dad didn’t think he needed to know, before he left.”

            Jim sighed.  “The man isn’t possessed.  Sam checked.  Checked and performed an exorcism in front of him.”

            Dean gaped for a moment.  “Where the hell did Sam learn an exorcism?”

            “I don’t know, Dean.  It’s Stanford.  Maybe they have an Occult Studies elective.”  It was easy to see where Sam had learned his sarcasm: right alongside his Latin.  “If he says the guy’s a human, then I have every reason to believe him, okay?”  Jim let out a long, slow breath.  “So.  Is Papa Bear willing to meet with the fellow?”

            “Says he’ll talk to him on sacred ground.”  Dean ran a hand through his hair.

            He expected Jim to put up a fight, but the priest just hummed.  “Fine.  Get your father to my church.  I’ll see what I can do to get this other guy here.  I think that’ll be the best for everyone.”

            Dean considered it.  “We’re in way-upstate New York.  It’s going to take us a few days to get there.”

            “It’ll take him longer than that.  Remember, he’s got to get here from Palo Alto.”  Jim sighed.  “I don’t know what’s going on, with the demon or with this guy.  But hopefully it’s something you can all solve.”

            “I hope so too, Jim.”  Dean terminated the call and let himself slump for a moment, here where no one could see.  There was no way that this was going to go Dean’s way, no possible way.  Either this guy showed up on his own, and Dean had to face the fact that Sam didn’t even want to see them, or Sam showed up with him and Dean had to put up with Sam and Dad all over again.  He didn’t know which was worse.

            On the one hand, maybe Sam had matured.  Dad hadn’t mellowed, but maybe Sam had gotten older and wiser and learned that college wasn’t for him, that his place was with his family.  He’d come back, show proper contrition, and after a while Dad would just let him come home.  Maybe the Beatles would get back together, complete with George and John.  Hey, it could happen.

            On the other – well, John had changed their phone numbers for a reason, and Dean had to admit that it was a good one.  This way, there was no way that Dean could hear from his brother.  The ties were severed clean and Dean couldn’t get distracted by moping and what-ifs.  Things that, in their line of work, could get a guy killed.  After all this time, what would he say to Sam if he did see him?  “Hey, sorry about that, hope nothing came up?  Hope you didn’t need us or anything?”

            And Dean wasn’t dumb enough to kid himself.  It hadn’t just been youth that had Sam and Dad at each other’s throats.  It was trust.  Nothing would have happened between 2002 and now to make either John or Sam trust one another more, or at all.  Wanting to get them together was a pipe dream – or rather, wanting to be around Sam was a pipe dream.  It would never be anything other than a disaster.

            But hell if he didn’t miss him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets a crash course in everything. Dean teaches John about very specific Japanese migration to Minnesota. John returns the favor by giving Dean some information Dean would probably prefer he hadn't.

Sam busied himself with tidying up the apartment.  He had a lot of questions for this stranger – his grandfather, weird as that was – but the guy had just experienced a major shock to his system and needed to absorb all of the changes.  The apartment didn’t need a lot of cleaning but Sam was very good at finding dirt and scrubbing it clean.  It was a gift.

            Jess slept for a good three hours.  After that she got up and showered, reappearing in jeans and a tee shirt instead of the Smurfs-tee-and-boy-shorts combo that she’d been wearing for the confrontation with Abaddon.  Henry seemed significantly more comfortable with this attire, which made Sam shake his head.  It shouldn’t matter what she wore, she was a human being and deserved respect, especially when _he’d_ intruded into _her_ bedroom.  Still, he supposed his grandfather had a lot to unlearn, all things considered.

            “I apologize for our manner of meeting.” Henry cleared his throat and stood to shake Jess’ hand.  “I’m afraid I was unprepared for the finer points of polite society at that point.”  He tugged at the edges of the hoodie Sam had dug out for him.  “I’m Henry Winchester.”

            “Jessica Moore.”  Her tone was cool, but her posture loosened a little.  “I’m Sam’s fiancée.”  She glanced at Josie.  “How’s she doing?”

            “She’s still breathing.”  Henry sighed.  “She was possessed by the most powerful demon I’ve ever heard of.  Most people need time to recover from even a lower-level demon.”

            “We’re aware.”  She padded over to the kitchen.  “Can I offer you something to eat?  I could use a little something.  That spell took a bit out of me.”

            “Thank you.”  Henry glanced at Sam.

            Jess grinned outright.  “Don’t mind him.  He literally doesn’t think about food until someone else brings it up.”  She shook her finger at her fiancé.  “And let me guess.  That’s the fifth time he’s re-arranged the books on that shelf.”

            “Sixth,” Henry noted.  “Complete with dusting.”

            “Sam.  Sit down.  Grab your laptop and make yourself useful.”  She disappeared into the bowels of the kitchen and rattled some pans around.

            Sam shrugged and obeyed.  If Henry and Jess were feeling social, maybe they could start researching how to help him or what they could do to set him up with a life.  “So.  While you were getting dressed I called someone who should be able to find John.  He’s put the word out and we should hear back in a few days.”

            “You don’t have any way of calling your own father yourself?”  Henry shook his head.  “I have a hard time believing that.”

            “Try.”  Sam pressed his lips together and remembered that Henry, for all of his familiarity, had no idea what the family was really like.

            “Sam.”  Jess shook her head.  “Henry, Sam’s father didn’t like his decision to come to Stanford.  He wanted Sam to be a hunter, like him and his older son.  Sam refused, so he was disowned.  After Sam left, he changed their phone numbers so Sam couldn’t call.”

            Henry scratched his head.  “They can do that?” he asked finally.  “Just like that?”

            Sam couldn’t help it.  He laughed.  Both Jess and Henry looked at him like he’d lost his mind and that just made Sam laugh harder.  “Jess – think about what Henry thinks about when he thinks about phones.”  He grabbed his own phone and tossed it to his grandfather, who caught it with ease.  “We don’t even have a land line, man.”

            Henry examined the device carefully.  He seemed afraid that he might break it.  “You’re joking.  This is a toy, like something out of a terrible science fiction film.”

            Sam just shook his head.  “This?”  He turned his laptop around to show Henry the screen.  “This is my computer.”

            “Impossible.  A computer wouldn’t fit into this apartment!”

            Sam smirked, relaxing for the first time since coming back from his run.  “Yep.  And this computer connects – without wires – to millions of other computers, all over the world.  And that’s how we’re going to figure out what happened to those ‘Men of Letters’ you’re talking about, see how best to help you.  Because I’m pretty sure that the last people who are going to be able to give you what you need are hunters.”

            Henry gave a shudder that didn’t look entirely voluntary.  “No, definitely not.  Hunters are fine, in their place, but asking them to do anything but kill is a lot like firing a gun and expecting it to plant daisies.”  He looked back at Sam.  “And you say my son became one of those apes?  He should have been raised in the Men of Letters!  He should have grown up knowing the truth!”   Henry’s soft hands began to shake.

            Jess reappeared with a bowl of oatmeal, which she shoved into Henry’s hands.  “Apparently something went wrong.”

            “Millie?” Henry gasped, giving Sam a look of desperation.

            “I don’t know who that is.”  Sam reached out and put a hand on his grandfather’s back.  “John didn’t talk about the past much.  He was a mechanic in Lawrence, Kansas, until a demon murdered his wife.  In, uh.  In my nursery.  I was six months old.  After that, he threw everything he had into hunting.  He didn’t know anything about the supernatural before that; I can tell you that much.”

            Henry swallowed, hard.  “So I never made it back from 2005.”  He nodded once.  “That’s… that’s good to know.”

            Sam sighed and pulled his hand back.  Some things held true, he guessed, and his inability to offer comfort to a Winchester seemed to be one of them.  “I don’t think so.  But hopefully you’ll be able to clear things up.  Meet him now.  Tell him what happened.”  Sam massaged his temples and retreated to his computer.  “But you’re going to need a few things first.  Like a current ID.  And money.”

            “Clothes,” Jess added.  “Those old things you gave him are fourth-hand at least.  He’ll need something a little sturdier to wear.  You should be able to load up a card for him, right?”

            Sam made a face.  He hated connecting with the criminal side of his past; it made him feel even less clean than usual.  Still, he couldn’t think of a _legal_ way to sort out the issues with Henry’s identity.  “Yeah, yeah.  I can find a couple of predatory lenders who deserve to lose a bit.  It won’t be a problem.”  He waved a hand.

            “Are you talking about theft?” Henry’s eyes widened in shock.

            “You have a better way to deal with your sudden re-appearance?”  Jess returned with more food, this time for her and for Sam.  “You’re legally dead, Henry.  We’ve got to build a whole new life for you, and for the lady – Sam, is that your grandmother?”

            “No.”  Henry’s mouth did something weird, something Sam couldn’t quite identify.  “I was already married to Millie by the time I met Josie.”

            And wasn’t that interesting?  Irrelevant, Sam decided, but interesting.  “Anyway,” he sighed.  “This is the only way to get you on your feet and get you up to Minnesota, assuming that’s what happens.”  He smirked.  “We could try getting you a retail job for Christmas but you’d still need an ID.”

            “Why do we need to go to Minnesota?” Henry asked.  “Can’t he come here?  I’d think he’d come running if he knew his son was calling for him.”

            Jess nudged Sam.  “Eat.”

            Sam rolled his eyes.  “What part of ‘disowned’ is escaping you?”  He pushed the oatmeal away.  Jess pulled it back and glared at him.  “You want him to hear you out, listen to anything you have to say, you want me to be physically as far from you as possible.  You don’t tell him you’ve spoken to me.  You don’t tell him you’ve seen me.  We’ve had no contact.  You’ve never heard of me.  He’ll tell you he has one son and you let that stand, alright?”

            Henry shook his head.  “No.  Not alright.  First of all, Abaddon knows who you are, Sam, and there was something about you that appealed to her.  I’m not comfortable leaving you alone here as prey, as a sitting duck.  Second, I don’t care that he’s been through a lot, or that he’s decided on a life of hunting or whatever.  You are his son.  And I am his father.  We are a family.  And he’s going to have to accept that.”  He grinned, just a little.  “Third, I have no idea how I’m going to navigate between here and Minnesota or wherever if _that’s_ a phone and _that’s_ a computer.”

            Jess chuckled.  “He’s got a point there.”

            Sam growled.  “You realize this is getting into some seriously uncomfortable territory, right?  We’re talking stolen cars, fake IDs, and a long-ass road trip to meet some very hostile people who – oh yeah, are very likely going to want to kill us.”  He met Jess’ eyes squarely, pushing the food away again.

            She rolled her eyes and kissed him on the nose.  “Well we don’t have to let them, stupid.”

            “You honestly think that your family would kill you?”  Henry shook his head.  “I clearly need to set some things in order with my son.”  He frowned.  “I might not be able to get back to my own time but I can certainly do something now.”

            “That’s not – he’s a _hunter_ ,” Sam ground out.  “My fiancée – I mean we cast spells.  You saw it!”

            “That’s one of the things we need to discuss.  There’s nothing wrong with magic that doesn’t involve demonic forces.”  Henry shook his head.  “Now.  Let’s see if we can’t figure out what happened to the rest of the Men of Letters.  Maybe we can find a way to get me back to my own time after all.”

            They passed the next few hours with Jess trying very hard to give Henry a crash course in modern technology as Sam tried to piece together what had happened after Henry cast his spell.  As near as he could tell, news reports had spoken of a “crazed killer” going after a men’s charitable organization and slaughtering everyone inside in Normal, Illinois in February of 1958.  That jived with what Henry had told him, although the names of the victims had given him pause.  “At least one of them got out, Sam,” he told his grandson.

            “Not according to the police report.”  Sam pointed to the screen.

            “I’m not sure how you’re able to get a police report on your screen, there, but that name there is a code.  We need to get to the grave of the person buried there.  First, though, we find my son.”

            Sam took the time to look up his grandmother’s history as well, now that he had a name to work with.  He wasn’t sure how to break the news of Millie Winchester’s death in 1986 to her widower.

            Part of Sam felt only resentment.  She’d been alive.  She’d died in a car accident, in perfect health.  If his father had truly felt compelled to go out and fight evil or whatever, could he not have left his sons with this close relative?  They could have had stability, affection, security.  Then again, maybe he’d tried.  Maybe Millie hadn’t wanted them any more than John had.  Who knew?

            Resentment wouldn’t get him anywhere.  He swallowed it down and broke the news as gently as he could.  Henry took it well, or at least as well as could be expected.  He teared up, but kept a stiff upper lip.  “I suppose it was asking a lot to expect her to still be alive.  Thank you for looking, Sam.  It was very kind of you.”

            Josie woke around six o’clock, and she woke with a scream.  Henry returned to her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her and holding her close.  “It’s over,” he told her.  “You were possessed but it’s over now.  We’re – well, we’re safe now.”

            Josie gave a massive shudder, but recognized that she wasn’t alone.  “What the hell is this place?”

            Henry had the good grace to look sheepish.  “I.  Well, when the demon attacked I got desperate.  I tried a time travel spell, thinking I’d go forward, find John and he’d help me to defeat it.  Instead it brought me here.”

            Josie buried her face in her hands, which still had blood caked on them.  “Oh, Henry.  Spellwork wasn’t ever your strong suit.  You should’ve – well, I don’t know.”

            Henry stroked her face, tender and gentle.  “Ssh.  It’s okay.  It worked out in the end.  Meet, uh, John’s son.  And fiancée.  They exorcised Abaddon.”

            Sam and Jess waved.  “I’m sure you’d like a shower,” Jess offered.  “Sam found some of my clothes that you can borrow for now.  We’ll go out shopping tomorrow and find something that fits you better.”

            “Um.”  Josie grimaced.  “That would be fantastic.”  She turned to face Henry.  “Did you just say we’re in the future?”

            He winced.  “Maybe a little?”

            She sighed.  “Oh, Henry.”  She shook her head.  “And these are Men of Letters?  They look a little young.”

            Sam coughed.  “We’ll let Henry explain that to you after you’ve had a chance to clean up a bit.  Nothing itches quite like dried blood.”

            By mutual agreement, Sam and Jess went out to get takeout while Henry waited to give a fuller explanation to Josie.  “You trust them?” Jess asked him, surprised.

            “Kind of.”  Sam shrugged.  “It’s not like they’ve got anyplace else to go.  Let’s worry about this family reunion road trip next, see if we can’t talk Henry out of it.”  He sighed.

            “You’ve been moping around about Dean for years and now you don’t want to go see him?”  Jess gave him a playful shove with her shoulder.

            “Not –“  Sam cut himself off and frowned.  “Jess, I want to see him like I want to breathe, but he’s going to murder us.  He’ll kill Henry and Josie just like he’ll kill you, for the whole witchcraft thing, and me – well.  I don’t know if it’ll be for the desertion, or for being tainted, or for witchcraft, or for law school, or for having the temerity to try to get Dad and his father back together –“

            “Whoa.  Okay, there, no need to panic.”  Jess put a hand on his chest.  “Stay with me here, Sam.”

            Sam took a deep breath and tried to catalog five things he could see.  “Okay.  I mean, I get that we, or at least I, have to go.  I can’t just let the two of them go running off to Minnesota.  You saw how Henry dealt when you tried to show him how to work a microwave.  He’s not going to be able to drive a car or anything.”

            “The mechanics of driving are the same,” she frowned.  “But I get what you mean.  There are so many electronics in cars now, and then there’s the whole thing with phones.  No, we have to go.  We don’t have to stay, if you don’t want.”

            “I want,” he confessed.  “I want to see my brother, and give him a beer, and tell him we’re getting married and make him come to the wedding.  I even want to chase him off when he hits on you.”

            “He’s not going to hit on me,” she scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

            “He’s totally going to hit on you.  He slept with my prom date.  On prom night.”  Sam shook his head.  “And you’re gorgeous.  Before he finds out you’re a witch, he’s going to hit on you.”

            “Charming.”  She wrinkled her nose.

            He waved a hand.  “You can handle him.  You’ve handled worse.  I’ll step in before he gets too awful.  Just wanted to give you a warning is all.  But anyway, I’m not going to stay, because it’s a horrible idea.”  They got their food and started back to the apartment.  “It’s only going to end in a mess.  We’ll let Henry get together with them and duck out before Dad realizes we’re there.”

            “Sounds like a plan.”  She sighed.  “Think they’ll be okay?”

            “Henry and Josie?”  He shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I mean, it’s a lot to take in.  But we’ll have to help them as much as we can for the next few days, right?”

            Josie looked cleaner when they got back – shaken, but cleaner.  Jess’ modern clothes looked a little more natural on her than Sam’s outgrown, pre-growth spurt clothes looked on Henry, but maybe that was just because they were newer.  “So.  Henry’s explained what he could.”  She forced a thin smile onto her face.  “What’s the rest of it?”

            Sam and Jess dished out the food and launched into an explanation, answering questions that would help both of the time travellers fit in better in the new century.  Sam set about making both of the newcomers new identities and setting up their new bank accounts, while Jess helped acquaint Josie with the computer.

            Jim called the next morning at around six to tell them that he’d spoken with Dean.  Their father was willing to meet this mysterious new contact.  He knew nothing about his father or Abaddon, although he knew that there was demonic involvement.  Sam shook his head and tried to keep the bitterness from his voice; trust his father to get excited for demons when he couldn’t for his own son.  They’d meet up in Blue Earth as soon as they could get there.

            “I’m going to have to drive him, Jim,” Sam admitted.  “The guy – I mean, phones are an issue for him, never mind modern cars with all their electronics.  Don’t worry; we’ll get a hotel room and be out of your hair.  Dad will never know we were even there.”

            “Sam.”  Grief shook the priest’s voice.  “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

            “It kind of does, sir.  But it’s okay.  We’ll be there in a few days.  Just give us a while to find some wheels and get some clothes for these nice folks.”

            As soon as the stores opened Sam and Jess brought their guests to get clothes for themselves.  On a whim, Sam grabbed a present for Dean too.  It wasn’t much; the Winchesters hadn’t ever done the Christmas thing well and it had become Sam’s second least favorite holiday, but he wanted to leave something for Dean to let him know that his brother was thinking of him.  After that they headed out for the start of their three-day journey, Sam having stolen them a nice and anonymous Honda Pilot.  Josie, interestingly enough, showed absolutely no astonishment at the theft, only a little amusement at Henry’s reaction.

            They got as far as Cedar City, Utah that day.  Sam kind of wanted to press on, but the weather turned snowy and the others didn’t trust a car whose maintenance they didn’t know under those circumstances.  They got two rooms and Sam had to hold back a laugh when their elders insisted on splitting up along gender lines.

            “So,” he said to his grandfather, sitting down in a chair across from him.  “Tell me about these Men of Letters, anyway.”

*

            Dean got into his Baby and settled in for the long drive toward Blue Earth.  In theory, they could do the drive in sixteen hours and Dean suspected that Dad would probably want to push for that.  On the one hand, that wouldn’t be so bad.  Push straight through and they wouldn’t have to deal with driving for a few days.  On the other hand it would be one long-ass drive, and given how late in the year it was a lot of that drive would be spent in the dark.

            Still, it wasn’t Dean’s place to set their pace, not on this job, and so he made sure he was gassed up and when his dad said that it was time to go he went.  Fortunately they were blessed with good roads and good weather, never a guarantee in the Great Lakes region at this time of year but he’d take it.  Dad’s monster truck might be able to handle snow but the Impala liked dry pavement thanks, and even the monster truck’s four-wheel drive didn’t help it to stop on ice.

            Just as Dean expected, they drove straight through.  He blared his music and tried to ignore the empty space to his right, cranking up the radio to drown out the silence.  It only sort of worked, but sort of was better than nothing.

            They got to Jim’s house at midnight, but the priest had left the rectory lights on for them.  Dean shook his head.  He knew the Church was supposed to be eternal and unchanging and all that but the way that this place had just stayed _exactly_ the same was taking it to extremes.  He could almost imagine a three-year-old Sammy running out of the front door wearing nothing but his Batman underoos and cackling like a hyena.

            He shook his head to dispel the illusion.  Those days were long gone.  Instead he killed the engine and got his bags from the trunk.  Jim was waiting for him at the door, maybe a little more gray in his hair and beard but otherwise no different than the building.  “Dean,” he said with a smile, and wrapped his arms around the younger hunter in a warm embrace.  “Come on inside; get out of the cold. Must have been a long drive.  The contact won’t be here for another couple of days yet.”  He nodded at Dad.

            Dad returned the nod with a frown and closed the door behind them.  “What’s the holdup?  We hauled ass to get here; this guy wanted to meet with _me._ ”

            Dean held back on his sigh, keeping it internal.  “John, this guy is coming up from California,” Jim explained, taking their coats.  “It’s a very different drive.  And I understand that his companion is recovering from some injuries.  They’re not just tearing across through mostly flat country.  They’ll be here.”

            John’s features flattened for a moment, but he sighed.  “Yeah.  Of course.  I’m sorry.  I got excited for a possible lead.  That’s all.”

            “I know you did, Johnny.”  Jim’s face softened.  “I know you did.  Why don’t you go on upstairs and get settled in?  They’ll get here when they get here.”

            John sighed and nodded, grabbing his bags and shuffling up the stairs.  Dean turned to Jim.  “Companion?  Injured?  Come on, Jim.  Tell me the truth.  Is Sam okay?”

            “As far as I know.  It’s a lady who’s recovering from something.”  Jim grimaced.  “She was possessed by the demon in question.  I’m not sure of the mechanics.”  Jim kept his voice to a whisper, just as Dean had.  “Sam sounded fine.”

            “Okay.  Okay, that’s good.  That’s – that’s good.”  Relief washed through Dean and left him weak in the knees.  “Awesome.”

            “But Dean – are you ever going to tell your father that your brother had any involvement?”  Jim looked tired for a moment, tired and unhappy.

            “Jim – leave it.  It’s not – it’s just not a good idea, okay?”  Dean stretched his back.  “In all these years he hasn’t said Sammy’s name, not once, okay?  It’s not a good idea.”

            Jim sighed heavily.  “Alright.  If you’re sure.”

            “Oh I’m sure.”  Dean didn’t try to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

            The next day Dad woke Dean up early.  Dean had been hoping for a break, a chance to rest up and recuperate from a rough few hunts, but apparently that wasn’t part of Dad’s game plan.  Dad had found a nearby case for them to work while they were in the area, since they were going to be cooling their heels and all.  Apparently there were reports of people suddenly freezing to death up in Alexandria, and that was only about four hours north of Blue Earth.  Witnesses claimed to have seen a woman nearby – a naked Asian woman, which aroused the suspicions of the police – but no footprints were ever found in the snow.

            Dean’s annoyance over losing rest time was mollified by the possibility of indulging in his admittedly inappropriate fetish, and so he and his father drove north.  He was pretty sure that he knew what the thing was; he’d worked a job with Bobby Singer, not long after Sam had taken off, and it had been a lot like this (except the monster had worn clothes, white clothes.)  He explained the details to his father as they drove.  “What was it?” Dad asked.  

            “It was a Japanese spirit called a _yuki-onna,”_ Dean said.  “They’re like these snow and ice spirits.  Mostly they operate like ghosts.”

            “So we can fight ‘em with salt and iron,” John said, nodding.  “Except they’re not actually ghosts, so there’s got to be something tethering them to the spot.  What’s a Japanese spirit doing in northern Minnesota, anyway?”

            Dean didn’t have an answer for that.  “When I was working with Bobby, it seemed to have come out of some kind of stone.  A special stone – I’d know it if I saw it again.”

            Dad snorted.  “You want us to find a specific pebble in all of Minnesota?”

            Dean glanced at the file his father had passed him.  “It looks like most of the attacks have been happening around some statue of a Viking.  Oh come on, seriously?  ‘Big Ole?’”

            “Don’t mock, Dean.  People like the Big Ole statue.  It makes them feel more connected to each other.”  John shifted.  “It’s not our lifestyle, but it works for civilians.”

            Dean nodded and bit his tongue.  He didn’t remember Lawrence, not at all.  He had a few hazy memories of a grassy space that could have been a yard or could have been a park, but that didn’t count.  It wasn’t a community, it was just grass.  Maybe they’d never really been civilians.  Maybe they’d never been part of someplace; maybe they’d always been apart.  Dean thought there had been something else once, but he hadn’t even been five when everything changed.  Maybe he was remembering wrong.  “Yes, sir.”

            “So do you remember how to take it out?”

            “Smash up the stone with iron, sir.  That seemed to work.”

            “Great.”

            They rolled into town and got a motel room, but they didn’t spend a lot of time in it.  They went out right away to go look for the _yuki-onna_.  John pointed out that if most of the attacks were coming near the Big Ole statue, then they should probably head over there and start their search.

            It didn’t take long to find her, or rather for her to find them.  She shimmered into existence right in front of Dean, every inappropriate teenaged dream he’d ever had standing right in front of him.  She stood before him, all but glowing in the moonlight; clad in nothing but her long black hair and the skin God gave her.  Except, Dean remembered just in time, it wasn’t skin, and God had nothing to do with it.  He pulled back the hand that had been reaching for her and lashed out with his iron crowbar.

            The spirit disintegrated before him, only to reappear behind him.  She raised a hand and sent him flying across the park, a sneer marring her pretty face.  “You’re seriously the Winchesters?”

            Dean crashed into a snow-covered bench and groaned.  “Who wants to know?”

            “Oh come on, Dean.  Everyone knows who you’re supposed to be.  Blah blah heroes, blah blah destiny, blah blah vomit.  Except you’re down by one already, aren’t you?”  She snorted.  “A brother act is kind of hard with only one brother, isn’t it?”

            A shotgun blast broke up her monologue, and her image.  Dad charged through the space where she’d been and pulled Dean off the bench.  “What are you doing, lying there?  Get up and help me find the damn stone, Dean!”

            Dean moaned as he trotted off obediently after his father.  Yeah, those ribs were probably broken all right.  Whatever – he could fix them up later.  Right now, they had work to do.  His eye picked up a few bits of color sticking out of the snow, on the side least exposed to wind.  Evidently people were in the habit of bringing things to Big Ole.   _Because that doesn’t have pagan connotations at all,_ Dean thought with a toss of his head.  He started to brush the snow away from the offerings, looking for the one stone that would let them go find someplace warm to rest.

            He didn’t have to ask his father to cover him.  Dad would always have his back.  Dean took off his gloves and brushed the snow away from the things left in the snow – toys and beer cans and prettily painted rocks, candy bars and a recently added Tupperware labeled simply, “lutefisk.”  Dean left that one well alone in his mad scramble.

            He heard the blast of the shotgun three or four times, and felt the blast of cold air on his bare neck more than once as he focused on his task.  He didn’t look up.  He even ignored his father when he yelled, “Damn it, Dean, hurry it up!”  Instead, he just searched harder.  The damn rock had to be around here somewhere, right?

            Finally, the stone came to his hand.  It even felt colder than the things around it, and how that was possible Dean couldn’t begin to guess.  He recognized the elaborate kanji carved into the rock, though, beautiful and compelling and oddly peaceful as he stared at it.  There was no time to get caught up in the pretty object, though.  He had to destroy it.

            He put the rock on the base of the statue and brought the crowbar down on it, as hard as he could.  The _yuki-onna_ shrieked, and a wind blew up from out of nowhere.  Dean couldn’t feel his hands, but he could see that they were wrapped around that iron bar so he brought it down on the remains of the stone again.

            The spirit melted.  The wind stilled.  Dean dropped the crowbar as his father ran over to him.  “Those hands look bad, Dean,” was all he said.

“They feel pretty bad, sir.”  He huffed out a puff of hot air onto the affected limbs.  “Can we put the heater on in the truck?”

Dad laughed out loud and patted Dean on the back.  “Anything you want, son.  That was some good work.”

Dean basked in the glory, and let his father bundle him into the truck.  They drove back down to Blue Earth with John in a wildly good mood, all smiles and affability.  He even volunteered some stories about himself and Deacon during the war, something he never did.

When they got back Dean felt a little more thawed out.  Jim checked him out and pronounced him to be in no danger of permanent damage, although he clucked his tongue at Dean over the risk he’d taken.  They all went to bed soon after and Dean was able to settle down in his bed and rest secure in the knowledge of a job well done and a father made proud, at least this once.

Dad let him sleep in the next day, and even let him take the day off in favor of researching the events that had taken place in California surrounding this new demonic menace.  There wasn’t much to tell.  Whatever it was seemed bad; anything that could take out an entire town’s power had to be pretty intense.  Not that Dean knew much about demons.

“That’s my fault,” John sighed.  “At first I wasn’t sure how much I believed in them, you know?  I mean demonic spirits, sure.  But full-blown demons?  Those sounded like fairy tales.  But the more research I got through the more I had to believe.

“I couldn’t tell you, though.  I couldn’t risk it.  I could already see that there was something… off… about your brother.”

It was the first time since Sammy had left that Dad had mentioned him directly.  “Off, sir?”  Sure, Sammy had always been a little weird, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t need to be told about demons.  Especially living the kind of life they led.

“I – Dean, your mother died trying to protect him from something.  And I don’t think she succeeded.  I think the demon that killed her was after him.  It did something to him.  I’ve found other children that it affected.  It… they all have powers.  Abilities, given by this demon.  Some of them seem benign.  Some of them are outright dangerous.  I’ve had to kill two of them myself already.”

Dean’s heart caught in his throat.  “Kill?”

“You probably don’t want to know those details, Dean.  I had some idea of what had happened by the time that he was maybe ten.  I’d hoped that keeping him with us would keep him safe, keep him from turning, but…”  Dad looked away.

“But you two couldn’t stop butting heads.”  Dean swallowed.  “And he left.”

“He wouldn’t obey.  Honestly, his disobedience made me suspicious.  I thought he was turning by the time he was maybe thirteen.”

Dean shook his head.  “He just didn’t trust you.  And you didn’t trust him.  It was inevitable.”

John gave a heavy sigh.  “He’s dangerous, Dean.  I don’t know how dangerous yet – if he just needs to be monitored or if – well, if.  But he’s under a demon’s influence, not only a demon but _the_ demon.  I just – I know with this whole thing, with that other demon coming through in Palo Alto, he’s probably on your mind.”

“Sir.”  Dean gulped.

“I trust you with this, Dean.  I know you’re good; you’re not going to just go take off or anything.  You know that I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you boys.  God knows I didn’t want to think that Sammy was… touched… by evil.”

“No sir.  Of course not.”  Dean struggled to keep his face neutral, but his heart was beating so hard under his skin that it had to show somehow.

“If we can find some way to kill this demon, we might be able to free him of its influence.  It wouldn’t be able to control him anymore.  He’d still be a freak, but he’d be able to live a relatively safe life, assuming he hasn’t completely turned to the other side.”

“Yes, sir.”  Dean nodded, mouth numb.  “I understand.”

“Good.  Because if anything happens to me, it’s going to fall to you to make sure that he’s not a menace to the world.”

“Of course, sir.”

John patted his back.  “You’re a good son, Dean.  Everything that a father could ask for.”  His face was melancholy as he looked away.

Dean recognized a dismissal when he heard one.  He scurried away, back up to the room he’d once shared with Sam under the eaves.  At least now he knew why Dad hadn’t ever trusted or listened to Sam!  But the reasons – those just couldn’t be right.  He couldn’t reconcile the idea of a demon-stained brother with the boy who’d argued so passionately for solutions that caused less harm, rather than saying “screw the collateral damage.”

But Dad – well, he’d been chasing that thing for a long time.  He knew things, and he’d never steered Dean wrong before.  Dean didn’t know what to think, except that it was good that he’d kept his brother’s involvement secret.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Men of Letters team meets up with someone from the sulfurous side of the street. The hunter team finds that they've been railroaded into a family reunion, with fairly predictable results.

Sam, Jess, Henry and Josie left from Cedar City at nine the next morning.  Sam figured that they could probably make it to Sterling City, Colorado before people staged a mutiny.  Sure, it was a ten hour drive and they’d make the last part of it in the dark, but it would make their journey so much shorter and better, and the roads looked clear and bright, and if he just didn’t tell them until they got there that this was his plan they might go for it.  Maybe.

            His dreams the night before had been a weird mix of proper REM processing of the information dump Henry had given him and images of Dean and John fighting some kind of East Asian snow spirit.  Sam wasn’t sure, he thought those might have been a vision, but unless the visions came while he was awake or related to the demon that had dogged his footsteps since he’d been an infant he couldn’t be sure.  Still, if they were a vision he had every reason to believe that Dean and John would be okay, for the Winchester definition of okay, so he didn’t worry too much about it.

            Instead, as he drove, he thought more about what Henry had told him.  Apparently his grandfather had been part of a secret society that tracked, and studied, the supernatural and somehow managed to not kill it.  They had no problem with magic.  They had no problem with psychics.  Sam had even confided in Henry about his own abilities – the man had seen him use some of them, after all – and Henry had just grinned and told him that was great news.

            “It explains why the spell brought me to you instead of to your father, Sam,” he said, relaxing for the first time since his arrival.  “If your father doesn’t practice magic, and you not only cast spells of your own but have psychic abilities of your own, then the magic would have sought out that energy.  I’d have expected John to be the target but you’ve got a lot of energy of your own.”

            Sam had just blushed.  He guessed that it made sense, if he thought about it that way, but he had a hard time wrapping his head around speaking about magic so openly with anyone but Jess.

            It would have been something, he thought, to grow up in that kind of environment.  To be able to study the world – the entire world – without being ordered to focus solely on how to kill it.  To know people, a consistent group of people, who valued knowledge for its own sake instead of for its value in destruction.  As near as Sam could tell, they had all been wiped out in Abaddon’s assault.  He thought Henry was kidding himself if he thought that some of them had survived.  Still, he’d get him to Jim’s, and let him meet up with John and Dean.  They could hunt down any surviving information.  If anyone could help him track down survivors, it was John.  And if anyone could help John track down the demon that had destroyed his family, well, it was definitely Henry and Josie, working together.

            They stopped for a quick rest and stretch in Grand Junction.  Sam leaned backward, just enough to crack his back a little, when he felt a telltale pull on something in him, in his blood.  He picked up his head and looked around, but no one seemed to be paying all that much attention to them.  “Problem,” he warned the others.  “There’s a demon nearby.”

            Josie paled, but reached under her hoodie.  “Who?  Where?”

            “I don’t know yet.  But I can – I guess the closest thing is that I can smell them.”

            “Well, we need food and we need gas,” Jess sighed.  She reached into her purse and pulled out a grease pencil.  “I know we already warded the car but I’ll put some more on, just in case.  You guys okay with sticking with the plan?”

            Both Henry and Josie were, so they locked the car and walked over to a small mom-and-pop restaurant and sat down.  The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood up; he couldn’t shake the feeling of something watching them, but he tried to act normally, ordering a veggie burger and a salad when the waitress came along.

            All three of his companions made fun of him for that.  “Really?  A veggie burger?”  Josie snorted.  “We travel fifty years into the future and that’s what people eat these days?”

            Sam made a face at her.  “Well you’re always welcome to chow down on the deep fried Snickers bar, or the McRib.”

            “For real?  What’s a McRib?”

            “Fast food ribs.  No joke.”  Sam shuddered.  “I’ll stick with my salad.”

            Henry made a face and poked at his meatloaf.  “Okay that’s an appetite killer right there.  I mean fast food had its place, but that’s just disgusting.”

            Jess laughed.  “Oh at least you haven’t introduced him to Spaghetti-os or some of the best in psychedelic-colored cereal.”

            Josie grimaced.  “I’ll pass, thanks.”  She glanced at Sam.  “Still.  Veggie burgers?”

            That sensation, the reminder of the demonic presence, increased its pressure against his mind and a woman approached the table.  She might have been about five foot four, with bleach-blonde hair and wide brown eyes that would have been pretty if it weren’t for the deeply unsettling glint just underneath them.  She gave them a grin.  “Hi there.  Mind if I join you for a minute?  I’ve been looking for Sam here for a while now.”  Her eyes flashed onyx, just for a moment.  “No tricks.  I promise.”

            Jess snarled and began the words to an exorcism, but the demon just gestured.  Jess started to choke, face going red immediately.  “Now here’s what’s going to happen.  Wifey’s going to shut up, and we’re going to talk.  That’s all.  No exorcisms, and she gets to keep breathing.  No one makes a scene and everyone walks away happy.  Got it?”

            Sam glanced at Jess.  Her eyes were already bloodshot.  “Yeah.”

            The demon relaxed, and Jess could suddenly breathe again.  She took giant gasps of air while Sam put a hand on her back, grabbing her hand.  “What is it that you want here?” Henry asked the blonde.

            “To talk.”  She shrugged.  “You’re new here, aren’t you.”  She sniffed.  “A new Winchester.  Interesting.  You can call me Meg.”

            “And what do you want with us, ‘Meg?’”  Josie met the demon’s eyes without flinching.  “It’s not every day that a demon comes and sits down at our lunch table.”

            “I’m curious.  We were just sitting around in the Pit, getting ready to put my father’s plan into action, when all of a sudden someone dropped a Knight of Hell into the middle of the conference table.”  She leered, a jagged expression that was probably intended to resemble a smile.  “From what she said at the time it was apparently you, Sam.  Last I heard that was a little bit beyond your ability.”

            Sam smirked.  “Apparently you heard wrong.”

            Meg snarled.  “Can it with the cutesy shtick, alright?  I want to know what rock you dug Abaddon up from under.  She was the last Knight of Hell.  There hasn’t’ been another one since the Civil War.  We didn’t figure her into our plans.”

            Sam fought to contain his laughter.  She thought he’d deliberately conjured Abaddon, to throw a wrench into her plans?  For real?  “I could tell you that, Meg.  I could.  But I don’t really see where that benefits me.”  He sat back, spreading his arms wide across the back of the booth.  He caught Henry’s eye, and then Josie’s.  He’d never worked with them before, but he hoped that they’d manage to figure something out before he had to act.  “I don’t even know who your father is.  Or what his plans are.”

            She pursed her lips.  “Fair enough.  My father, Sam, is the one who gave you all those super special things that you can do that no one else can.”  She winked, false cheer radiating from every pore.

            “He’s the one who killed my mother.”  Sam didn’t lean forward.  He wouldn’t show as much interest as he felt – he couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep Meg on her toes, but to be honest most of what he felt was numb.  His father had been fighting for twenty-two years for answers and here they were, just sitting there at the end of the table like it was no big deal.

            Meg shrugged and grabbed a fry off of Josie’s plate.  “If you want to make an omelet.  You know how it is.  My father’s responsible for everything you are.  You owe him.”

            “I wouldn’t go quite that far.  I mean, I don’t even know the guy.  And considering that he put me under a death sentence with my actual family, I’m not exactly feeling charitable.  Why would a demon go around giving babies abilities, anyway?”

            She leaned back, expression no longer quite so affable.  “I can’t tell you that yet, Sam.  That would ruin the surprise.  Let’s just say that I’m pretty sure we’re going to be seeing an awful lot of one another.”  She winked.  “I could ride with you.  Save the trouble of finding you later.”

            Jess glared.  “I think we’ll pass.  Thanks, though.”

            “Oh, sweetheart.”  She smiled, sweet and malicious.  “We’ll have so much fun once we get to know each other.”

            Jess reached into her purse and pulled out a pinch of some kind of powder.  It made Sam feel a little itchy, but the effect on Meg was instant.  She recoiled and disappeared.  “Palo Santo shavings,” Jess explained.  “She wasn’t going to give us anything new to work with.”

            “I can see where it would be a good thing to keep on hand if you’re running into demons on a regular basis.”  Josie grinned.  “That’s a well-stocked purse.”

            Jess winked at the redhead.  “A girl’s better off over-prepared than underprepared, don’t you think?”  She pulled some cash out of her purse.  “Speaking of which, I’m kind of wondering if we shouldn’t maybe get out of here sooner than later.”

            “Not a bad plan,” Sam agreed, adding some cash to the pile.

            Jess took the keys from him and insisted on driving the rest of the way.  “I want to be a good ways away from here before Meg comes back,” she suggested.  “Where do you think is a good place to stop for the night?”

            “How about Sterling City?”  Sam relaxed, glad to get his way without having to fight about it.  “It’s a good enough place and it’s a good way away.”

            No one objected, and they got on the road.  “So.  A demon’s had its eye on you since you were a baby?”  Henry raised his eyebrows, but Sam just nodded.  “That must have been hard.”

            Sam squirmed.  “It’s why I left,” he said finally.  “Not the whole reason and I didn’t know it was a demon, at first, but I was starting to have visions.  They were getting harder and harder to hide.  John already didn’t trust me.  I figured that it might not be the greatest life but it was mine, you know?  I wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.”  He looked out the window.  “I didn’t know that was where the abilities came from until now, but I suspected.”

            “Well.  It sounds like it’s kind of an issue for the enemy.  I mean, they sound like Abaddon showing up puts a major kink in their plans.”  Josie gave a little laugh.

            Sam turned to look at her.  “That’s it?”

            “Well it’s hardly your fault, Sam.”  Henry shook his head.  “There’s nothing demonic about you, wherever your abilities came from.”

            Josie nodded.  “Our job is to help you, not hurt you.  We’re not hunters.”

            Jess reached over the center console to grab Sam’s hand and squeeze it.  He’d never thought anyone who wasn’t also a target would say that.

            The drive up to Sterling City was tense, but they made it without any problems.  Once they arrived, Sam asked that one of the women call Jim.  “John and Dean are at the rectory right now, and John won’t be willing to hear us out on the whole time travel thing until he sees you face to face.”  He nodded at Henry.  “Once we’ve got Jim on the phone I can explain about the meet-up with Meg, and he can pass the information on to John.  But he’d recognize my voice, and I don’t want to take the chance that he’d recognize Henry’s.  So – it has to be one of the ladies, just in case John picks up.”

            Henry pressed his lips shut at the roundabout way of going about things, but Sam didn’t have time for his “we’re all family” issues right now.  He just checked them into the motel – one room,  two queen-sized beds, for security’s sake, and they’d just have to deal with the loss of privacy.  If they were lucky and didn’t hit traffic or weather they’d be in Blue Earth tomorrow night and Sam and Jess would have their own motel room tomorrow night; they could survive a little close quarters until then.

            Jim, as it turned out, did pick up the phone.  John and Dean were out hunting an ice spirit, which meant that Sam’s dream had been a vision and not just a dream.  Huh.  Who knew?  He accepted the phone back from his fiancée and explained what had happened to his friend and mentor, who sounded both intrigued and worried at the same time.  “That doesn’t sound good, Sam.  Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

            “Yeah, Jim.  We’ve got the car warded and everything; if we don’t get out and get too social I think we should be okay.  I don’t know how much of that you want to pass on to Dad; I’d rather that we kept my name out of this whole case.  But I still think this is something he’d want to know, if that makes any sense.”

            Jess wrapped an arm around his waist as Jim gave a quiet laugh into the phone.  “You’re a good man, Sam.  Take care of yourself.  I’ll hopefully see you tomorrow night.”

            Henry and Josie insisted that they split up the beds by gender again.  Sam supposed that he could understand that, even if he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the one person who understood him and gave him comfort.  Apparently Henry and Josie hadn’t had that kind of relationship, whatever kind of chemistry seemed to flash between them, and they wanted to keep things professional.  “We must seem terribly old fashioned to you,” Josie smiled, blushing.

            “Not at all.”  Jess gave her a reassuring smile.  “I know that engaged people living together wasn’t the norm where you lived, and well – I mean Henry was –“  She stopped herself.

            Henry shrunk into himself a little, but waved a hand.  “It’s okay.  It’ll take some time – but it’s not like there is a manual for this stuff.”  He grimaced.  “Time travel isn’t exactly common, even though there is a spell for it.”

            “I can see why.”  Sam shrugged.  “Who wouldn’t go back in time and fix everything that they could?  I mean, who wouldn’t change everything possible so that their lives would turn out better?”

            Henry and Josie both jumped a little.  “Here we are talking about going back and ‘fixing things,’” the latter said, leaning forward.  “Neither one of us has thought about what that would mean for you.”

            Sam gave a little laugh.  “Ma’am, a demon’s been after me since I was six months old.  It killed my mother and drove my father to live always on the run, never in the same place for more than a couple of weeks.  And there’s never been a point where he hasn’t blamed me.  You want to go back and fix it so that doesn’t happen?  You be my guest.”

            Jess grabbed at his arm.  “Sam!  What if that meant that you weren’t born?”

            He kissed her lips.  “Then you’d probably be better off.  I mean, Brady wouldn’t have been possessed and tried to kill you, so he’d be better off and you wouldn’t have to remember that.”

            She glared at him.  “We’re so talking about this later.”

            He sighed.  If Josie and Henry could get back to their proper time, then there wouldn’t be a later.  It didn’t seem like they had – after all, Sam existed, everything else had happened, so the past never changed.  But still – if it meant that everyone’s life was better, it wasn’t like he’d _miss_ not having existed in the first place.

            “On that morbid note, let’s try to get some sleep.”  Henry sighed and tucked turned out the light.  “We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

            Sam lay down and closed his eyes, trying to force his body to rest.  Much to his surprise, sleep did find him quickly, despite the tension-filled day.  When he woke, he felt like he was ready to face the ten-hour drive to Blue Earth.

           

*

            Dean was lying on the bed in the room he used to share with Sam, contemplating the ceiling, when he heard a car pull up outside the rectory.  He sat straight up.  It didn’t necessarily mean anything.  It could have been anyone – some parishioner.  Some other hunter in need of help.  Anyone.  Still, something nagged at the back of his mind.   _Don’t let this go.  It’s your chance._

            So he raced down the stairs in his bare feet, just in time to see a Honda Pilot with California plates pulling out of the driveway and back onto the road.  Two strangers stood on the doorstep as Jim Murphy held the door open for them.  Jim’s face looked sad, profoundly sad, and he shook his shaggy head.  “He wouldn’t come in, even for a second?” he murmured to the couple.

            “He’s got his reasons.”  The male half of the couple shook his head.  “I tried to get him to chance it, but he wouldn’t do it.  I can’t say he was wrong.”  He sighed.  Thank you for letting us use your place for this.  It’s a huge help.”

            “Anything for the Winchester family.”  Jim grinned, if a little sadly, and turned around to see Dean.  “Hey, Dean.  You want to go and get your dad for me?  This is that contact I told you about.”

            Dean swallowed.  That had been Sam, in the car.  Sam had the opportunity to come in, and had refused.  He guessed that told him all he needed to know.  He’d expected as much, and after hearing what Dad had to say he’d kind of figured it was best for Sam if he stayed away, but he still kind of wanted to punch a wall or something.  Instead, he went and found his father, just like he’d been asked.

            Dad was in the guest room, writing in his journal, when Dean found him.  “Sir?  That contact, from California, is here.  With a friend.”

            Dad hesitated, and then he hauled himself to his feet.  “Alright.  No time like the present.  How are those ribs?”

            “As well as can be expected, sir.  He doesn’t seem inclined to fight.”  Dean tried not to think about the ribs.  It helped them to hurt less.

            “Appearances can be deceiving,” he said, but grabbed a gun and led the way back down to the living room.

            Pastor Jim was sitting down there in one of the stiff, formal chairs.  The strange man and woman sat near enough to make it clear that they knew each other, but not so close that it looked like they were together.  Dad stopped stock still when he saw the man, who rose to his feet when he saw John.  “What the hell are you?” John growled at him.

            Tears streamed down the stranger’s face.  “You’ve gotten so big!” he gasped, putting a hand over his mouth.

            John already had a knife in his hand.  “Shifter?  Revenant?”

            “The tests have all been done already, John.”  Jim sighed.  “He is who he looks like.”

            “And who did those tests, Jim?  Hm?”  John’s jaw twitched as he struggled with the strain of holding his temper in.  Dean had seen it all too often.  “Get me something silver, someone, right now.”

            Dean pressed a silver blade into his father’s hand.  “First you,” John growled to the man.  “Then you.”  He glanced at Jim.  “You get some damn holy water and make with an exorcism.”

            “Language, John,” the man tutted.

            John dragged the silver knife over the top of the stranger’s forearm, then repeated the same process with the woman.  Jim returned with holy water, which had no effect.  Both of them repeated the exorcism verbatim along with the priest, which had Dean struggling not to snicker as they finished the rite together.  It was the kind of thing that Sammy would have done, if he were here.

            Then the redhead turned to John, eyes narrowed.  “Alright.  Are you going to let your father hug you or not?”

            Father?  Dean staggered.  He guessed the guy did look a little bit like him, if he thought about it.  “Why would he do that, lady?” Dean snapped at her.  “His father walked out on him fifty years ago.  It’s a little late to get that last late night cuddle in, don’t you think?”

            The man – a good twenty years younger than his dad at least – swallowed.  “Yeah.  About that.  For you it’s been fifty years, and I’m going to try everything in my power to fix that.  I am.  But for me it’s been about four days, and three of them have been spent driving here.”

            “Time travel.”  The redhead gave a thin, professional smile at the blank looks that both Dean and his father gave.  “Your father was part of a secret society.  You were supposed to have been raised in it, but they were wiped out by a demon.  In order to try to save others, Henry here cast a spell – a time travel spell.  It was supposed to bring him to you in the future, but he got a little turned around.”

            “At the end of the day, though, it drew off the demon,” Jim added.  “Which, it should be noted, has thrown a major monkey wrench into the works of the demon that killed your wife, John.”

            Dad started when Jim said that, like he’d been so caught up in his father’s face that he couldn’t think past that.  Dean couldn’t blame him.  John had hated the guy for fifty years for walking out on him.  Now here he was, looking like it had been only yesterday.  Which, for one of them, it had.  “If you just time traveled, where’d you get the clothes?”

            “The people in whose closet we landed were very generous.”  The woman gave another of those thin smiles.  Dean got the sense that she was one tough woman, and that if Dad took a swing at his old man Dad would be on the ground before he could blink.  “Ours were a little bloody.”

            John nodded slowly.  “I.  Um.  I see.  So you come here from the distant past wanting me to believe that you just… cast a time travel spell.”

            “I’ve been given to understand that you’re opposed to such things.”  Henry sat back down, apparently abandoning the idea of a hug.  “I’m sorry that you never got the chance to learn better.  My intention was to come to you, after you’d completed your studies, and then you and I would go back to defeat Abaddon together.”

            “Do you think you might begin to see the flaw in your plan?”  John’s teeth were grinding together enough that Dean was starting to think about looking for a dentist.

            “Desperation,” Henry pointed out.  “It was either that or just let the Knight of Hell loose on Illinois, to include you and Millie.”  He took a deep breath.  “The goal was – it is – for us to get back to our own time and defeat Abaddon there.”

            “But she’s here,” Dean pointed out, smiling brightly.  “Not there.  Then.  Whatever.”

            “That does seem to be a problem.  Although that seems to annoy some other demon.”  The redhead gave Dean one of those irritated schoolteacher looks.

            “They had an encounter with your demon’s daughter, John,” Jim interrupted, walking across the room to stand between the pairs.  “On their way here – was it only yesterday?”

            Henry nodded.  “Yes.  I believe it was yesterday.  She seemed quite irate that someone had exorcised a Knight of Hell into the middle of a planning meeting.”

            “Did it not occur to any of you to take this demon hostage and get some real information out of her?” Dad growled.

            The redhead just raised her eyebrow.  “In the middle of a crowded diner.  You think we should have made a huge scene and taken a demon hostage in front of a crowd of civilians.”  She glanced at Henry.  “Our ride’s probably still in town.  We can probably get him to come back if we can ring the hotel.”

            “Excuse me?”  John asked, in a dangerous tone.

            “You heard me.”  Redhead wasn’t intimidated by Dad, not in any way, shape or form.  “I’ve worked with hunters before.  Some were good.  Some were less good.  At the end of the day, though, even the Campbells came down to kill first and sort out the mess later.  That would have created a huge problem for everyone involved.”  She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

            “Wait – the who?” Dean asked, blinking.

            “You call yourselves hunters and you’ve never heard of the Campbells?”  Redhead scoffed.  “Call our ride back, Henry.  We’ve got work to do.”

            “What, like Samuel Campbell?” John asked, in a slow and terrible tone.

            “Yeah, that’s one of ‘em.  He did some work for us a couple of years back.  He’s part of them.  There’s a whole family of them.  Why do you look so green?”

            Dean grabbed his father as he staggered back.  “Dad?” he asked.

            “Mary’s father was Samuel Campbell,” Dad murmured, face ashen.

            Even Dean had to process that for a second.  “You’re saying that Mom… came from a hunter family?”  He hadn’t even known that hunter families existed.  Not outside the Winchesters.  “It has to be a different Campbell family.  It’s not like the name is uncommon.”

            “Must be.”  Henry softened as he looked into his son’s stricken face.  “Look.  For now, anyway, it sounds like the demons have their hands full.  They blamed… our host… for dropping Abaddon onto them, if you can believe it.”

            John swallowed.  “Why does Abaddon have it in for you?”  He blinked a few times.  “Is it all Winchesters?”

            “No.”  The corners of his mouth played up.  “At least it wasn’t.  What about this other demon?  Its daughter told us something about giving ‘gifts’ to children, abilities, that sort of thing.  That’s about it.”

            The redhead stroked her chin.  “The daughter said that their plans had all been made in the absence of a Knight of Hell.  When she – well.  When she came here, there wasn’t a Knight in Hell for fifty years.”

            John paled even further.  Dean felt a knot grow in his stomach.  “What if the plan was to grow new knights?”

            Henry frowned.  “That’s an awfully big leap of logic.”

            “Think about it.  Giving kids powers, tainting them.  Turning them into little demonic sleeper cells.”

            “The kids wouldn’t be demonic just because a demon flipped a switch inside their brain,” Redhead explained.  “For starters, he’d only be able to work with something that was already there.  At least, that’s as far as I know about psychic abilities and demons.  Not without you owing your soul, which you’d have to give your full, knowing consent for.  Like demonic witchcraft.”

            Henry and Jim both nodded.  “But a child can’t do that.  So it would only be enhancing power that already existed,” the latter agreed.  “That makes sense.”

            “The Men of Letters had a fantastic library on this,” Josie sighed.  “Anyway, the whole point is that the kids still have free will.  If they were good to begin with, and they had the right encouragement to grow up good, they’ll be fine.  If they had a lot of incentive to turn evil, then I guess like any other human it’s possible.”  She shrugged.

            “You haven’t seen these kids.”  John looked her in the eye, and Dean trusted his father in this.

            “I’ve seen enough,” she replied, in a quiet tone.

            Dean understood then.  He knew, of course.  He knew that it had been Sam who had found them, Sam who the demon had tainted.  Sam who had helped them, even though it meant a huge risk to himself.  “You can’t be sure they’re going to stay good,” Dean sighed to the woman.  “Sure, they may seem okay now.  But who’s to say they’re not going to turn to evil sometime down the road?”

            “It’s like any other weapon.”  Henry shook his head.  “I – well, you should understand.  Wait – you are John’s son, correct?”

            Jim laughed.  “Henry Winchester, meet your grandson, Dean.  Dean Winchester, this is your grandfather, Henry.”

            “Allow me to introduce my colleague and friend, Josie Sands.”  Henry gestured toward the redhead.  “John, I don’t know if you remember her.”

            “A little bit.  She didn’t like kids much.”  John smirked.

            Josie shrugged.  “Not my strong suit.  Anyway.  We were talking about demons.  I think a lot of your problem will be solved if we can get rid of these demons once and for all.”

            “You got some way of doing that, lady?” John snorted.  “Because we can send them back to Hell, but they just pop right back out.”

            “I have a few ideas.  I might want to call in some reinforcements.”  Her lip curled, just a little.  “A hunter might not approve.”

            “If you can help me get revenge,” John said, enunciating slowly and carefully, “I don’t care.”

            Henry shivered.  “We’ll have to see what we can come up with.  But we’ll need to talk to some other people.”  He sighed.  “Might I borrow your phone, Father Murphy?”

            Jim grinned.  “In here, please.”  He led Henry away.

            Dean’s pulse raced.  He knew, or he thought he knew, who Henry was going to call.  He couldn’t follow.  He couldn’t let on – it wasn’t safe for Sam, and he still had Dad’s revelations swirling in his head.  Besides, the jury was still out on this whole “grandfather” business.

            John was still sitting in the living room, face an entirely wrong shade of white.  “I just can’t wrap my head around all of this,” Dad said.  “I mean – first of all, my father’s a witch.  Always was.”

            “No.  He’s not.”  Josie rolled her eyes, and Dean had to wonder how it was that Henry wasn’t hitting that every day of the week.  Josie Sands was hot, hotter than the flames of Hell.  “The Men of Letters make use of spells in the course of our work, but so do most hunters.  Witchcraft is something very different.”

            “And apparently Mary came from a family of hunters.”  Dad’s hand shook as he lifted it to his face.  “My Mary?”

            “We don’t know that for sure.”  Dean shook his head.  “She would have told you.  She would have said something.”

            “Not if she was trying to get out.”  Jim gave a small smile.  “I mean, as far as she knew, John, you were a civilian.  We don’t tell civilians about what we do.  Ever.  So if she was going to marry a civilian, she had to become one herself.  Think back.  Do you remember anything that seemed unusual?  Things that she wrote off as ‘superstitions?’”

            Dean growled at the pastor, drawing a shocked look from Josie, but John sighed.  “She had a thing for iron,” he nodded slowly.  “A real thing for iron.  And she was picky about the salt.”

            “The Campbells were some of the best,” Josie told him in a soft tone.  “She’d have known how to hide herself well.  But sometimes, in a hunting family, there will be children who don’t fit the mold.  Who don’t take to hunting.  Sometimes they’re too sensitive, they don’t like the killing.  Sometimes they’re psychic and feel unsafe in a family of hunters.  Sometimes it’s both.”  She shrugged.

            “Are you trying to tell me my wife was a freak now?”  John loomed over the scholar.

            She just gave him this look, almost contemptuous.  “Sit down, John.  I didn’t know her.  I think I might have met her once when she was all of two.  It wasn’t a meeting that stood out.  I’m just telling you that it’s not unusual for children in hunting families to reject the life.  That’s all.”

            His face twisted and he walked out of the room.  Dean heard his feet on the stairs, heavy and loud.  “Did you have to put it like that?” he asked Josie with a sigh.  “I mean, that’s his wife, his whole reason for doing everything we do, and you’re telling him she committed the ultimate sin.”

            Josie shrugged.  “I can’t say I have a lot of patience for his viewpoint.  I just spent four days with a guy who faced down a Knight of Hell without flinching and saved my life.  Faced down another demon too, just as calm and cool as can be.  But he is _terrified_ of coming here and seeing that man again.”  She blew out a long, slow breath.  “I am dying for a cigarette.”

            Dean raised an eyebrow.  “Hoo boy.  I guess you’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

            She glared.  “The link between cigarettes and cancer was known in 1954; I jumped in 1958.  I quit in 1955.  That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t cheerfully kill for a cigarette right now.”  She sighed.  “Look.  You feel your way about Sam.  You feel your way about Henry, too –“

            “They both abandoned their families!” Dean hissed.  “They did!”

            “Henry didn’t abandon anything!” Josie snapped.  “He saved a lot of people.  And Sam would have – well, Sam needed to get out.  He’s more suited to being a Man of Letters than a hunter.  Who knows.”  She grinned.  “If we can’t get back to our own time and fix everything that was broken here, maybe we can talk him into helping to revive it.  Him and that fiancée of his.”

            “Fiancée?”  Dean gulped, sitting back down.  “Sammy’s getting married?”

            “She’s a lovely girl.  Spine of solid steel, and she takes excellent care of him.”  She smiled.  “Henry and I both like her.”

            Dean slumped.  He wished he could meet this fiancée.  Wished he could see his brother and give him a hard time, see what he was up to these days.  “He’s really scared to be around us.  Hates us that much.”

            She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t think hate has a lot to do with it.  Look.  I’m not exactly qualified to be your family counselor, okay?”

            Henry returned to the room.  “He’s spooked,” the patriarch told them both.  “He’s willing to help out for a while, but he’s spooked.”  He glanced at Dean, almost like he wanted to say something, and then away again.  “We can leave in the morning.”

            “You’re going to leave Dad again.  Just like that.”  Dean shook his head.  “Figures.”

            Henry rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.  “Look.  I understand that my disappearance was… was devastating for John.  I do.  I didn’t see an alternative and I still don’t.  If I’m able to go back and fix it all I will.  Even with everything he’s become he’s still my son –“

            Dean stood up.  “Everything he’s become?  He’s a hero!  He saves lives, every day, even though he’s been torn up inside since he was four years old!  Even though everyone in his life has left him, he still puts himself out there and helps people!”

            “He kills without consideration, without differentiation,” Henry shot back.  “He doesn’t see a difference between ‘supernatural’ and ‘evil.’  Or between ‘paranormal’ and ‘evil.’  It’s a shame.  I’d hoped – well, there’s nothing that I can do about it now.  But the fact that –“  Henry stopped himself.  “I’m not going to try to convince you.  There isn’t time and I’ve yet to meet a hunter who would listen to reason.  We’ve got a demon to try to stop, one who’s going to kill a lot of people if we don’t get our act together.  While I’d love to have an opportunity to connect with my son, I don’t think he’s interested.  And that’s understandable.”  He looked away.  “We’ll be out of your hair come morning.”

            Dean shook his head.  “You can’t just leave him!”

            Josie scoffed.  “You think he should what – let the most dangerous demon in Hell run around loose so that his son, who refuses to acknowledge him, can do what?  Refuse to help?  There’s work to be done.  I’m sorry that doesn’t fit in with your ideals.”  She walked out of the room; a moment later Dean heard her voice talking to Pastor Jim.

            Henry looked at Dean.  “I know I’m not your favorite person, Dean.  And I know this is difficult for a hunter, but try to see things from my point of view.  Five days ago I was a happily married young scholar.  Today my wife is dead, my son hates me and everything I’ve worked my whole life for is dust.  And my grandson, who is one of the only two people even remotely interested in helping me to take down a demon, is pretty convinced that my son wants him dead.  This is already difficult, Dean.  If you’re not going to help –“  He cut himself off and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds Normal. John gets a new perspective on the world.

Sam  was expecting the call he got from Henry.  He wouldn’t have said that he was enthusiastic about hauling ass down to Normal, Illinois, but it wasn’t like he expected John to be receptive.  After all, John had spent decades thinking his father had abandoned him and building up his resentment accordingly.  That kind thing didn’t just get turned off like a switch because someone showed up and said, “Oops,” no matter how bizarre the extenuating circumstances might have been.

            “This is one case,” he sighed to Jess, “where I can kind of see Dad’s point of view.  Not on the whole spell casting thing, obviously,” he added when his fiancée turned to look at him with a gleam in her eye, “but with Henry just showing up out of the blue.”

            She lay down on the bed next to him.  God, but it was good to pare back down to just the two of them, even if it was just for the night.  They didn’t have to do anything sexual – that had never been the cornerstone of their relationship anyway.  It was enough to just hold and be held, to bury his nose in her thick blonde curls and breathe in the scent of her shampoo.  “I guess.  I mean, I can’t begin to understand what that must be like, to lose someone like that and have them show up fifty years later looking like it was only yesterday for them.  It’s just… I don’t know.  I guess it’s easy for me to say he should take the opportunity.  I don’t have all of the baggage he has.”

            Sam grinned at her.  “Well, it’s not like we don’t both have our own baggage.  But you know what?  We can’t do anything about John.”  He swallowed past the lump in his throat that wanted to become Dean’s name but refused.  “Maybe he’ll work through his issues about Henry, eventually.  Maybe not.  But that’s not… that’s not something we’ll be part of, you know?  For now, we’ve got a demon to take down.”

            She made a face.  “Another one.”

            “Same one,” he shot back.

            “No.  We had the one infesting Brady, and now we’ve got this one.  We’ve got the one who showed up at the diner and you can’t tell me she’s not going to come back.  She’s got an eye for you, Sam.  I don’t like that.  And then we’ve got her father, and who knows what’s up with him.”

            Sam groaned and thumped his head on the headboard.  “Right?  Now that you mention it, it does seem like we’re kind of up to our eyeballs in brimstone.”  He nibbled on the cuticle of his left thumb, a nervous habit he’d picked up as a kid and never gotten rid of.  “Obviously it’s something…”

            She flicked his ear.  “Hold it right there, mister,” she said over his outraged yelp.  “None of that.  It’s not your fault.  I know how your mind works.  You did nothing to bring this on, okay?”

            He forced a weak smile.  She’d see right through it, she always did, but he couldn’t do anything about that right now.  “Anyway.  It’s not how I wanted to spend my winter break, but it’s kind of like… if we don’t help get rid of this demon, it’s going to hurt a lot of people.  And it seems to have an issue with Winchesters.”

            “Plus, you like them.  Henry and Josie.”  She laughed when he blushed.  “It’s okay.  I do too.  They’re smart and they know a lot of interesting things.  Maybe it’d be nice to have someone on your side in the ‘family’ side of the wedding pictures.”  She nudged him and he grinned.  He liked that idea too.  “It’s a little unorthodox, but so are both of us.  I think it’s good that we’re helping, Sam.”

            He kissed her.  “I am so lucky to have a fiancée like you.”

            “You are.”  She hugged him and snuggled up close.  “But I’m just as lucky.”

            The next day Jim drove Henry and Josie back to the motel.  Henry looked drained, and Josie irritated, but neither of them said anything as they got into the car.  Sam didn’t’ ask; he didn’t want to know.  Instead, he started on the six and a half hour drive southeast to Normal, Illinois.

            Sam had grown up like this: endless hours in a car.  He hadn’t been the one driving, not unless both Dad and Dean were so badly injured that they couldn’t drive, but the principal was still the same.  He found music that they could all tolerate and settled into a pace that made him comfortable, and let the miles spread out around him.  They had to be smart about their journey, keeping an eye peeled for anyone following them, but on the whole it was a comfortable trip.

            Once in Normal, Jess dragged them all into an occult shop she’d somehow dredged up through one of her contacts.  She spoke to the woman behind the counter, who looked surprised for a moment and then escorted them through a backdoor into a second showroom.  “I needed to get some additional goodies,” Jess explained with a wink.  I wasn’t expecting to be gone this long, and I’d like to have Henry and Josie be just as well-hidden as we are.”

            “Hex bags,” Sam explained, patting a pocket.  “Good ones.”

            “That’s a good idea,” Josie nodded.  “That’s not the way the Men of Letters usually do – did – magic, but it’s a good plan right now at least.”

            “The witches are still around and the Men of Letters aren’t.”  Henry grimaced.  “I think maybe snobbery isn’t in our best interests.”  He walked through the aisles and examined the wares for sale in silence.

            Jess turned out to not be the only one looking to stock up, which pleased the shop owner to no end.  Once they’d gotten their purchases to the car, the family found a hotel and got adjoining rooms.  Sam felt a pang at the loss of Jess by his side, but she was only an unlocked door away.   They did some research and got takeout.  Henry and Josie never ceased to be amazed at how much information Sam could dig up with the slim computer he carried with him everywhere he went.

            As near as Sam could find, someone who went by the name of Albertus Magnus had been among the dead during the assault on the Men of Letters (listed as Rotarians in the newspaper article, a fact that both Henry and Josie found hilarious.)  When Henry stopped laughing, he explained.  “Albertus Magnus was a name we just used as a cover.  He never existed, even though the Church canonized him in something like the fourteenth century.  A lot of our work got credited to Albertus Magnus.  And as the years went by and we improved some ways of thinking, Albertus became a code word.”

            “It meant for others to look deeper.”  Josie continued the story.  “Can you tell me where he’s buried?”

            “Sure.”  Sam pulled up the burial records.  “Right next to all of the others.  But –“

            “There will be a clue on his gravestone, or in the grave itself.”  Henry looked happier than he had since he popped out of Sam’s closet.  “We can go check it out tonight.”

            “So wait a minute.”  Jess frowned.  “If everyone was killed, who lived to put up the headstones?  Leave the code?”

            “That’s a good question.”  Josie frowned.  “May I look at the roster of the people I killed please?”

            “Josie, you didn’t kill them.”  Sam put a hand on her back.  “It wasn’t you.  It was Abaddon.”

            She looked away.  “I still remember everything.”  Her hand shook, but she clenched it into a fist.  “The names.”

            Sam showed her how to work the track pad.  “It’s fairly easy.  After all this is over I can give you a crash course in computer use.”

            She nodded, not really paying attention.  “There – we had a Bill Rourke, but he died in 1918.  Influenza.”

            Henry side-eyed her.  “Why do you know that?”

            “Ghost communication project.  So given that we’ve got a person present among the listed dead who wasn’t present, who was present but not among the listed dead?”  Josie turned to Henry.

            The eldest Winchester looked at the list.  “I don’t see Ed Winters on here.”

            Sam took the laptop back and started working.  “I’ve got an Edward Winters, born in 1915, currently residing in the Harrison-Saunders Retirement Home.”

            Jess looked up.  “Shouldn’t that information be protected?”

            Sam shrugged.  “It technically is.”

            Henry laughed.

            They had to go to a hardware shop to get shovels, but that was just a pit stop on the way to their ultimate destination.  The cemetery was one of those “rural cemeteries” that had been so popular at one time: designed as a park, so people would enjoy visiting the dead.  Sam didn’t get the appeal, but he supposed it made jobs like this easier.  He found the graves easily and started digging under the one marked “A. Magnus.”

            All of the others took turns with the digging.  Sam marveled at how much easier and faster the process was with four workers instead of two, especially when none of the four were trying to convince the others that they’d earned more digging time by somehow slipping up in some other area – a brotherly tactic both Sam and Dean tended to use, back when Sam still hunted with his family.  Somehow it seemed as though their father only intervened to force Sam to dig more, although Sam wondered if Dean felt the same unfair slights.  Most siblings probably did.

            Just as the two Men of Letters had promised, the coffin was empty.  For once, that was a good thing.  He reached into the decrepit satin lining and pulled out a key.  “What do you think this is?”

            “I have no idea.”  Henry leaned on his shovel and wiped his brow.  “I say we drop in on old Eddie tomorrow and ask him.”

            Sam didn’t have a lot of confidence.  Who knew how good “old Eddie’s” memory was now that he was, well, old?  He might not have memory problems, not everyone developed age-related dementia, but fifty years was a long time to try to remember something.  He held his tongue, though, and got to filling the hole back in.

            That night Sam dreamed.  He dreamed of his father in a cage of bone and blood, and Sam could hear a beating heart in the background.  John paced in the tiny cell, and he shook the bars of his cage, but it didn’t help him.  The entire scene was overlaid with the stink of sulfur.

            He woke in a cold sweat, with Henry shaking him.  “Sam.  Sam!  What’s wrong?  You were having a nightmare so bad that the lamp was shaking.”

            Sam felt his face turn red.  “Sorry about that.”  He swallowed.  “It’s Dad – John.  Sorry.  I’ve got to call Pastor Jim.”

            He reached out for his phone and dialed the number, not caring for the late hour.  His old mentor answered the phone on the first ring.  “Sam?” the priest asked.  “Sam, what’s wrong?”

            “It’s Dad.  He’s in danger.”  Sam rubbed at his face as Henry looked on.

            “Did you have a vision, Sam?  About your father?”  Jim sounded a lot more awake now.

            “I did.  Yeah.  Um.  I think he might get possessed.  Sometime soon.”  Sam clenched the sheet in his fist.  “I don’t know who the demon is, but they had him locked down but good.”

            The priest sighed.  “Sam, he’s on holy ground.  I don’t think anything can get to him here.”

            “Not most demons.  Some very strong demons can probably cross holy ground, sir.  All the same, he’s probably safer if he stays on the property.”  He took a deep breath and tried to force his racing pulse to calm.

            “That’s the truth.  Thanks for letting me know, Sam.  I’ll try to find a way to keep him here.”

            “Thanks, sir.”  Sam hung up as Henry sat on the edge of the bed.

            “You had a vision of your father getting possessed?”

            Sam slumped back against the headboard, miserable.  “Yeah.  I couldn’t get a sense of which demon it was.  I don’t know…”  He trailed off.  “I mean, the demon didn’t speak, and sulfur smells like sulfur, you know?  There wasn’t any way to identify who it was.  I didn’t get a sense of its intent.  Just that it was there.”

            “It’s okay, Sam.”  Henry put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “You did well.  Precognition isn’t one of the more exact sciences.  I’m just – I guess I’m surprised that you didn’t want to tell him yourself, but I guess that I don’t blame you.”

            Sam snorted.  “It’s not the first warning I’ve sent them that way.”

            The grandfather smiled softly.  “You really do love them, don’t you?”

            “Of course!  They’re my family.”  He sighed.  “If I could have stayed in contact, helped them while going to Stanford and getting out with the whole psychic thing going on, I would have.  I couldn’t – they weren’t willing to hear me out about Stanford and I couldn’t have mentioned the psychic thing.”

            “No.”  Henry shook his head.  “I know that now.  But you’re still helping, in your way.”

            “Yeah.”  Sam trailed off.

            “Are you going to be okay?”

            “Yeah.”  Sam got up.  “I’m not going to have an easy time getting back to sleep, but I can put the time to good use.”  He grinned and reached for his laptop.  

            The next day, the quartet rose, breakfasted and made their way to the nursing home in which Ed Winters currently made his residence.  Henry had Jess give her name and tell the front desk people that she was his niece, related to Mr. Winters’ brother Albert.  Both of the Stanford students gave him a funny look for that, but Josie explained that it was a reference to Albertus Magnus, the Men of Letters’ mascot and code word.  If Ed still had any of his faculties he’d recognize that.

            As luck would have it, the ruse worked.  A nurse wheeled out an impossibly old-looking white man with papery-looking skin and tinted glasses over his eyes.  “Jessica!  There you are, darling!” he called out across the lobby.  “It’s been such a long time!  How has college been treating you, my girl?”

            All four visitors walked over.  Jess hugged the stranger as Sam took the wheelchair from the nurses.  None of them pinged his demonic senses, but he couldn’t be too careful.  There were things beyond demons that could reach out at any time, after all.  One of the nurses looked askance at Sam, but he put on his best “sweet and innocent” face and she backed off with a smile.

            Dean had always hated that.

            Winters made no complaint as Sam wheeled him over to a sunny corner of the visiting room and put the brakes on, making small talk about a family that didn’t exist for the benefit of anyone listening.  Then, once Sam and Henry had pulled up chairs for themselves, Josie and Jess, he changed the subject.  “Alright.  I’m a patient man.  I’d have to be, having waited for close to fifty years to hear from one of my colleagues.  I want to know who you really are.”  Winters’ affable demeanor didn’t change, but it did shift, just enough that Sam could understand his meaning.   “I’m afraid my eyes aren’t exactly what they used to be.”  He lifted his glasses to reveal milky irises.

            “Fair enough.”  Jess smiled, still maintaining the ruse.  “My name really is Jessica Moore.  And I really am a student at Stanford.  I’d like to introduce my fiancé, Sam Winchester.”

            The old man paused.  “Winchester, eh?”  He stroked his chin.  “I don’t suppose you’re any relation to Henry Winchester?”

            Henry’s grin could have split the sky.  “He sure is, Eddie.”

            The two colleagues embraced.  “You made it out!” Winters laughed.  “I was so sure that you’d have been one of the first to go, when it turned out that Sands was possessed.  You two were so close…”

            Josie cleared her throat.  “Jess and Sam helped us – helped me – with that problem.”  She drew back, and Jess put a hand on the redhead’s shoulder.  “Henry cast a spell.  Time travel.”

            “You?  Cast a spell?”  Winters chuckled.  “You’re lucky you made it in one piece.”  He shook his head and patted Henry on the back.  “I have to say, I’m impressed.  Not sure how much good it did you.  The Men of Letters are gone.  I’m the only survivor.”

            “I know.”  A shadow passed over Henry’s face then, and Sam put a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder and squeezed gently.  “But while we’re still alive, there’s hope.  That’s the amazing thing about being a Winchester.”

            “I suppose it is.”  Winters gave them a sad, toothless smile.

            Jess cleared her throat.  “Sir?  We went to check on… Mr. Magnus’ grave and we found this inside.”  She passed him the key that they’d found in the coffin.

            Winters’ gnarled fingers traced the lines of the key and its fob.  “This…”  He inhaled deeply and let out a sigh.  “I suppose that there’s hope yet.  Pass me a piece of paper and a pen.”

            Sam found both in his computer bag, helping the old man to find them.  “What is it?”

            “That, my boy, is the key to the greatest treasury the world has ever known.  And the safest place.”  He wrote, carefully and slowly, on the piece of paper.  Sam looked down.  “Do not let anyone else get their hands on that.”

            He turned and signaled the nurses.  “I’m tired.  I’m an old man, and I get so few visitors.  You keep that safe now.”

            Sam looked down.  So did the others.  “What the hell is that?” Josie asked.

            Henry and Sam looked at each other and grinned.  “Coordinates,” Sam reported.

            “Ancient Egyptian numbering,” Henry translated.    “We’ve got more driving to do.”

*

            When Henry left, John hadn’t tried to stop him.  Dean wasn’t surprised and he didn’t blame his dad – those kinds of feelings didn’t just disappear, and would it have really killed Henry to try to make it right with his only child?  Henry could have used a guy like Dad, a hunter like Dad, to go hunting down a demon.

            But then again, it sounded like old Henry had plenty of experience with what was really out there himself.  Maybe he didn’t need Dad, or maybe he was used to being the one in charge and wasn’t ready to deal with following someone else’s lead.  Dean could get that.  Dad sure wouldn’t have been content to play backup to someone else, even without the spell work or anything.  Once you got used to being the one in command for a long time, it was damn hard to take a back seat.

            And maybe it was a bad idea for hunters and whatever Henry was – a witch, or a sorcerer, or what-the-hell-ever – to work together.  Not that Dean thought than anyone who did spellwork was necessarily a witch.  Bobby Singer knew his way around a grimoire and there was no question about his being involved with anything shady.  But it wasn’t his call to make.

            He wondered if he and Henry would have gotten along any better if they’d spent more time together.  Maybe Henry would have loosened up after a couple of beers, or maybe Dean would have figured out a way to just deal with the weird formality of his speech.  Maybe Henry would have figured out that hunters did what needed to be done, or maybe he’d have shown Dean that he was capable of doing something that needed to be done too.

            Ah well.  If Dean had a nickel for every “what-if” he’d never have to pay for gas again.

            Dad did hang around Pastor Jim’s like a lonely ghost for about a day or so after Henry left.  He didn’t talk much, but Dean guessed he didn’t have much to say.  He did, however, hole up with a newspaper.  The phone rang late in the night that night but Jim took care of whatever it was.

            Dad was eager to move on the next day, but Jim tried to discourage him.  Okay, the reunion hadn’t gone the way that anyone wanted.  That didn’t mean that they couldn’t get some useful information out of this event, right?  Both Henry and Josie had confirmed that they’d been approached by someone claiming to be the daughter of the demon who had killed John’s wife; shouldn’t they explore that angle and work to try to track her down?  If they got that much, they’d get closer to their ultimate goal: Yellow-Eyes.

            Dean thought the priest sounded a little desperate to keep them there, but he couldn’t fault the idea in and of itself.  Jim was even able to produce a sketch that Josie had made of the demon.  Dean had to hand it to Josie; she wasn’t a bad sketch artist.  She might have a personality like a grater, but she could draw.

            The possessed woman looked pretty, in a weird kind of way.  She had a small, almost pert little nose that looked even smaller with her bleach-blonde hair and huge eyes.  Dean stared at the picture.  Had he seen her somewhere before?  In a truck stop maybe, or when he was interviewing witnesses?

            Dad grumbled about the delay.  He was getting antsy, wanting to run away from the constant reminder.  Okay, sure, his dad hadn’t walked out on him back then but he had this time, and he’d brought up arguments that were eerily similar to arguments Sam had used back when he was still with them.  Dean could understand that, could get why his dad wanted to get away.  Dad couldn’t control Sam and he couldn’t control Henry but he could control the job, could go out there and save a bunch of people and make life better for folks who still had a chance.

            So why was Jim so keen to keep them here?

            Dad finally snuck out of the house late that night, around nine.  “I’ve gotta get some air, “ he groused.  “With the damn priest watching me all the time I feel like I’m going to explode.  Cover for me, would you?”

            And of course if Dean covered for his dad, he’d have to stay cooped up in the house and not go out himself and see what there was to see.  Still, Dad obviously needed this.  Dean could wait to find a game or a fight or a screw until another time.  It was Dad who had just been dealt the crushing disappointment.  Dean – well, he hadn’t even really expected to see Sammy, had he?

            So he nodded and smiled, and when Jim Murphy asked where Dad was he told the priest that Dad had gone to bed early, just like he’d done when he and Sammy had been kids.  Then he sat up for a while with a Vonnegut book, because he might as well take advantage of the rare night without scrutiny, and he went to bed.

            The next morning he went downstairs, ready for a workout, and found his father smiling and sitting at the table.  Jim, too, sat at the table, but he wasn’t smiling.  Instead he looked with narrowed eyes at John Winchester.  “Morning, Dean,” John greeted, daintily cutting his sausage up into small pieces.

            “Heya, Dad.”  Dean paused.  “No running today?  No sparring?”

            Dad shook his head.  “I figured I wanted to enjoy some time with my boy.  Sometimes I lose sight of what’s important.  That’s dangerous, you know?  What’s the point of all this, of all the fighting and risking our lives, if we can’t remember why we’re doing it in the first place – family.”

            Dean blinked and sat down.  “Sure.  I mean – yeah, of course.  Family always comes first.  It’s the most important thing.  You made sure we – I knew that.”

            Dad gave a soft, gentle smile.  “Good.  I’m glad.”  He sipped from his coffee and grimaced a little bit.  “Geez, Jim.  This could probably use a little sugar, don’t you think?”

            “I don’t know, John.  Seems to taste about the same as it always has.”  Jim stood up.  “I guess I’m not much of a judge, though.  I’ll go get the sugar.”

            A heavy hand descended onto Pastor Jim’s shoulder as Dad stood up.  “I know where it is, padre.  You just relax.”

            Dean froze.  Dad had never taken sugar in his coffee, not once in all the crappy diners and terrible motels they’d visited.  And he’d never encouraged anyone to “relax.”  Hell, even after Sammy’d been born he’d talked about Mom getting “up and at ‘em” again.  He sipped at his coffee, which tasted fine.

            Had something happened last night?

            “Jesus Christ, you’re right, Dad.”  He kept his eyes on his father as he spoke.  “This is some God-awful brew, PJ.”  He might have imagined the first flinch, but not the second.  He leaped to his feet, chair flying back and landing on the floor.  “What are you?”

            “It took you all of what, thirty seconds to figure that one out?”  Dad scoffed.  “They weren’t kidding about you Winchesters being something to watch out for, downstairs.  I thought they were full of crap, myself, but what do you know?  The younger generation can pull something off without having their little hands held.”

            John’s lips spread in a bizarre grin.  “Of course, Daddy Dearest here didn’t think you’d figure it out.  Didn’t think you’d pick up on the little differences between him and me.  He should give you more credit, Dean.  I mean, you’ve been doing the job as long as he has, right?”

            “You shut up about my dad,” Dean growled.

            John gestured, and Dean found himself pinned to the wall.  He couldn’t move; could barely breathe.  “Or what, Dean?  You’ll sass me again?  Please.  Maybe Johnny was right about you anyway.”  He smirked.  “He’s in here, you know.  Screaming, shouting, flinging himself at the walls like it’s going to do anything but bruise his little gin-soaked brain.”

            “Whiskey, usually.”  Dean smirked right back.  “What is it that you want here, buddy?  How are you even able to walk around in here?  This is holy ground!”

            The thing in John’s body scoffed.  “Please.  That works on the rank and file, and I’ll admit it’s a little uncomfortable.  No more uncomfortable than taking on a male meatsuit.”  He ran his hands over his body, lingering on his thighs.  “I have to say, though.  For all the miles put on this one, it’s not half bad.  And to think I’d have been satisfied with the father.”

            Dean blinked.  “Are you the demon from the picture?”

            “What?”  He shook his head and walked over to Dean, and now that he was moving Dean could definitely see something much more feminine in the way his father moved, something about the way his hips swayed.  “I don’t know about any picture, but I can tell you that I’m real excited to have my hands on Henry Winchester’s boy.  Shouldn’t be too hard to dig him up and finally eradicate the Men of Letters once and for all.”

            Dean’s mind raced.  Where had Pastor Jim gone?  “Henry’s long gone, sister,” he promised.  “He never was the sticking around type, if you know what I mean.”

            “Oh, Dean.  If only you knew.  All the secrets, everything you should have been.  Everything your daddy here should have been.  Can you think, just for a minute, about a world where your father would have been able to look at that mutated angel Azazel and banish him with a couple of words and a gesture?”  John chortled, absolutely chortled, and it was the sickest sound Dean had ever heard.  “I mean, think about it.  Think about how much pain and suffering you’d have been spared if not for the fact that _I_ chased _Henry_ over fifty years, away from your daddy, away from the grandmother you never even knew, and you wound up here.”

            “Doesn’t matter.  He didn’t stick around anyway.  And now you’re here, so all that abandonment in the name of keeping his family safe didn’t help.  You’re wearing his little boy like a cheap suit.”

            The demon grabbed his chin and turned Dean’s face.  “I suppose that I could ride you instead.  But no… I think you’re reserved for someone else.  Azazel definitely did his homework, at least.”  He patted Dean on the cheek, just enough to be insulting, and walked out.

            Dean fell to the floor in a heap, just as Pastor Jim ran back into the room with a gallon jug of holy water.  “Where did he go?”

            Dean sighed.  “I don’t know.  Something about uprooting Henry.”  He turned his head to look at his friend and mentor.  “You knew.”

            “I knew there was a chance that it would happen.  Didn’t know it would happen so soon.”  He sighed.  “How did he get out of the house?”

            “Snuck out last night.  You knew he was going to get possessed?  How?”  Dean punched a wall, not caring about the damage to the plaster.

            Jim winced.  “I couldn’t very well come out and tell him that a psychic called me up and told me, could I?  He’d hunt the psychic down and cut his throat before I even got the words out.”

            “Jim, it’s not like that,” Dean started, before the words caught up with him.  “Unless the psychic…”

            Jim nodded, skin on his face seeming to age twenty years.  “He realized he was having visions about two years before he left for Stanford.  About eighty percent of the tips I’ve been feeding you come from him.”

            Dean’s extremities felt numb.  John had told him that Sammy’d been tainted, that he’d have a chance of developing abilities, but nothing like this.  “And he’s just been… passing stuff to you?”

            “He’s been worried.  Terrified, more like.  He loves you, Dean.  He wants you to be safe.  He knew you wouldn’t be open to hearing from him, and he didn’t exactly have a new phone number for you, so.”  Jim slumped down onto the floor and ran his hands through his hair.  “We’ve got to call him now, Dean.”

            “Dad – Dad wouldn’t like it.”  Dean sighed.  “He’s with Henry, isn’t he?  Still.”

            “The demon that’s in your father is the one that followed your grandfather here.  Sammy and his fiancée exorcised it once; they’ll be able to do it again if they have fair warning.”  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.  “You want to talk to him, or you want – oh.  Hi, Sam.  It’s me.”

            Dean held his breath.  “Yeah.  We’ve got a problem,” Jim continued.  “It’s in your father.”

            The words echoed in Dean’s brain as he waited for Sam to finish whatever he was saying.  Jim winced, and Dean could see tears forming at the corner of his eyes, but Dean couldn’t process it.  “ _It’s in your father.”_  Dean had failed.  He’d failed to keep his family together, and Dad was possessed and going through literal Hell right now because Sammy couldn’t even trust him enough to call him and give him warnings directly.  He’d had to go through the priest.

            “No, Sam.  This is not your fault.  Even if all of that were true, which it isn’t, it sounds like this demon’s been after your grandfather’s organization for a very long time.  Nothing to do with you or that other demon or whatever’s going on with you, okay?”

            That shocked Dean into action.  “Give me the phone, Jim.”  He held out his hand.

            Jim side-eyed him.  “Dean, I don’t think –“

            “It’s Dad, Jim.  Please.  Just give me the phone.”

            Jim sighed.  “Alright.  But don’t you start with him –“

            Dean snatched the phone away from the priest.  “Sammy.  Listen.  The demon that’s in Dad –“

            Sam sighed.  For a moment, Dean thought he’d screwed up again.  Sam was so quiet for so long that Dean thought he’d lost him.  “Dean –“  And then he cleared his throat.  “Sorry.  Yeah.  The demon’s name is Abaddon.  She’s a Knight of Hell.  Stronger than anything anyone we know has seen before.”

            “Not _anyone_ , Sammy.”  Dean forced a little grin.  “I hear you kicked her ass once.  You can do it again.”

`           Sam choked out a little laugh.  “Maybe.  We’ll see.  If we can set up a trap, we might be able to pull this off.”

            Someone else grabbed the phone away.  When they spoke again, it was Henry’s voice.  “Dean.  It’s Henry.  We’re going to do everything possible to get Abaddon to fall into our trap, but here’s the thing.”

            “You need bait.”  Dean nodded his head, forgetting for the moment that they couldn’t see him.  “I get it.”  He heard Sammy shouting in the background.  “He’s pitching a bitch fit about it, isn’t he?”

            “He’s not happy about it.  Neither am I.”  Henry’s voice had a grim tone.  “It’s going to take you about seven and a half hours to drive to Lebanon, Kansas from Blue Earth, according to your future sister in law.  It’ll take us about an hour and fifteen minutes longer.  Jess will send you coordinates; I’m not really sure how that’s supposed to work.  If you have any backup that you don’t think will kill us on sight, bring them.  I want my son to live, Dean.”

            Dean thought about it.  “I think Bobby Singer could get there fastest.  And he’s the most open minded about magic.  He draws a mean devil’s trap, too.”

            “That’s good, Dean.  If he can make it there, that’s good.  Now.  Take every precaution you can; neither John nor I would be happy about losing you.”

            Dean chuckled.  “I didn’t think I was your favorite person in the world, there, Gramps.”

            “You’re my grandson, and you’ve been taking care of my son for twenty-two years when I couldn’t.  I’ll always love you for those two things, Dean.  Even if we don’t share all of the same values.”  Henry took a deep breath.  “Godspeed, Dean.”

            Dean hung up, breath shaking.  “So, padre.  Feel like taking a road trip?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Men of Letters team finds a way. Team Winchester does too.

Sam gripped the steering wheel as tight as he could as he barreled down the highway.  He knew he was scaring his companions, even Jess.  He’d care about that later, probably.  No, definitely.  It would absolutely bother him later on that he was messing up such a good relationship with the only family that wanted him.  His relationship with Jess would probably survive, although he’d have a lot of work to do playing the attentive boyfriend.  That was okay; it was a role he enjoyed.

            But Henry?  And Josie?  Yeah, they weren’t going to be so keen on seeing him again, not after seeing him shut down like this.  Not after seeing the way that the entire world narrowed to just, “Dean.”  He wasn’t even sure that he wanted Henry around, because Henry was using Dean as bait.  Henry was using _Dean_ as bait against _John_ , and there was nothing in the world less messed-up than that.

            They let him drive in silence for a while, tension that was thicker than oatmeal making it difficult to breathe in the stolen car.  (A stolen car that Sam knew he should ditch soon; no good came of hanging onto things for very long.)  Only after five and a half hours, when Dean called to tell Henry that Bobby Singer was in place and that things were going according to plan, did anyone dare to speak to him.

            “Sam,” Josie said, leaning forward.  “I know this is difficult.  They rejected you but they’re still your family, right?”

            Sam grunted.  He didn’t feel compelled to dignify that with any better response.

            “We’re going to make sure that this demon can’t hurt anyone, ever again.”  Her tone was probably intended to be soothing.  It probably would have soothed a civilian.

            “Except that demon is walled up pretty tight inside my father,” Sam ground out.  “If we can figure out a way to kill a Knight of Hell, then we have to kill my dad.  And Dean’s going to see me sitting there and killing his Dad.  His hero.”  Sam hadn’t thought his fingers could grip the wheel any tighter, but apparently they could.

            “The coordinates that Winters gave us are to a repository – a kind of bunker,” Henry told him, swallowing.  “We’ve never been.  We were supposed to have been taken there after our initiation.  But the bunker, in addition to holding the most extensive library of the paranormal and supernatural ever assembled, contains a massive assembly of artifacts and weapons that will affect even a Knight of Hell.”

            “We’ll find what we need in there,” Josie told him.  Sam heard the rustle of cloth behind him, as though the older woman were trying to reach out and touch him, but he saw Jess stop her in the rearview mirror.

            Thank God for Jess.

            “There should be a way to draw her out of your father, Sam,” Henry said, trying for a confident smile.  “He’s my son.  I want him to live.”

            Sam turned back to the road, where every dotted white line screamed Dean’s name as they passed it.

            The drive from Normal to Lebanon, Kansas took close to nine hours.  They stopped once, for gas.  When they got to the coordinates Winters had slipped them – and hadn’t that been clever, using the ancient Egyptian numbering system – Sam frowned.  Maybe it was just because it was dark, but the place just looked like a basic electrical substation to him.  “This is it?”

            Jess looked at him and back at the dumpy little shelter, set into a hill.  She didn’t look impressed either.

            Josie and Henry, though – they looked enthralled.  Their faces shone with anticipation.  If the circumstances were any different Sam would have thought it was their wedding day or something.  Everything he was getting from them was hope, and excitement, and anticipation, and confidence.  If there were a victory to be had, it would come from whatever was inside Substation 542.

            Henry strode forward, key in hand, and unlocked the door.

            Sam and Jess followed him.  For a moment, the place stayed shrouded in darkness.  Then Josie found a switch on the wall and brilliant light flickered into existence.  “Well,” Sam said, taking a deep breath.  “It’s bigger on the inside.”

            And it was.  Iron stairs led down into what looked like an elegant bank vault.  There was even a table with a light-up map of the world.  There were shelves filled with books, and with art, and with seemingly abandoned weapons strewn about.

            Sam approached the Japanese sword hat stood on a stand.  He didn’t feel the need to test its sharpness.

            “Alright.  There should be a catalog…”  Josie strode over to a large credenza against a back wall as Jess squeezed Sam’s hand.  “Time enough to explore later.  We need to know where to find something that we can use to save John.”

            It took them fifteen minutes of searching to find something that they could use.  “Storage room six,” Jess announced, pulling a card out of a drawer and marking her place.  “A Jar of Binding.”

            Sam darted over to read the entry aloud over her shoulder.  “Upon exorcism, the spirit – demonic or otherwise – is trapped within the jar.  Similar to the demon trap bowls of Mesopotamia.”  Hope welled up in him for the first time.   He fought to temper it down; nothing ever worked as smoothly as that process described it.

            Storage Room Six took them another twenty minutes to find.  Once they were there, the jar wasn’t difficult to spot.  It was the one with all the cuneiform writing on it.  Josie pulled it off the shelf and cradled it lovingly in her arms.

            Henry, in the meantime, found something else on the shelf.  “I’d heard about these.”  He tossed a box of bullets over to Sam, who caught them on instinct but almost recoiled.

            “Bullets?  Henry, what the hell?”

            “Look closely, Sam.  There’s a devil’s trap etched into the tip of each one.”  He grinned.  “You don’t have to hit him in a fatal spot.  It should hold him long enough to pull Abaddon out of him, if this doesn’t work.  It’ll send her back to hell, but it’s better than leaving your dad possessed and chasing after Dean.  Right?”

            Sam breathed out a long, slow breath and loaded his gun with the altered bullets.  “Good point.”  He could do this.  They could do this.  It was all okay.

            Thus armed, the quartet returned to the Pilot and drove to the spot appointed for the showdown.  Singer had chosen it, since he’d gotten there first.  Sam swallowed hard.  He hadn’t seen Bobby Singer in ten years; not since he’d been all of twelve years old, dumped off by his father when Dean had “gone missing on a hunt.”  Bobby’d been willing enough to never see Sam again and Sam couldn’t blame him, but they’d have to deal with each other now.  It was all for Dean, right?   And Dad, of course.

            He got out of the car when they got to the field.  The stars out here were intense; but he’d have expected nothing less in a town with all of two hundred fifty people.  The air was cold and sharp – nothing like the Palo Alto sea air.  For a moment, just a second, everything felt perfectly still.  This was a momentous occasion.  Everything was coming home to roost.  No matter what happened, the family would reunite for a few moments at least.  A great evil would be faced, and either would destroy them or be destroyed by them.

            Jess nudged him, and he moved again.

            Bobby Singer appeared from around a barn.  “You must be Henry Winchester.”  He looked the same.  Bobby Singer would never change.  He was eternal, like the sun, the moon and the stars.   He’d probably be the same, and still wearing that hat, when the Earth stopped moving around the sun.  “Bobby Singer.  I’m a friend of Dean’s.”

            “Where’s Dean?”  Sam couldn’t get caught up in sentimentality and he couldn’t get caught up in the might have beens.  “Is he here?”

            Bobby’s eyes widened a little bit.  “That can’t be Sammy.”

            Jess put an arm around him.  “It’s Sam now.”

            “How in the hell did you get so big, boy?  Was your mother a giant?”  He shook his head.  “Well, it’s good to see you anyway.  Dean and Jim Murphy are here.  Come on out, boys,” Singer called.  “The gang’s all here.”

            Dean and Pastor Jim came out of the barn.  Dean’s eyes slid over Sam, checking him from head to foot, but he didn’t say anything.  He wouldn’t, not now.  Not when they had a job as big as this.  “Good to see you all again,” Jim told them.

            Dean stuck his hands in his pockets.  “So… what.  Do we just hang around and wait for the bitch to show up or do a little dance or what?”

            Sam felt a familiar tug in his blood.  “Showtime,” he told them.

            “Aw, Dean.  I’m touched, really.  If I’d known you were so attached to me I’d have taken you instead of him.”  The voice was Dad’s and not at the same time, maybe it had been a while but Sam still recognized his father’s voice well enough to know the difference.  “I suppose we could probably make the trade.  What do you say?  You want to give yourself up, sacrifice yourself for dear old dad?”

            “Shut up,” Sam spat out.  “Dean’s not going to be your meat suit.”

            “Oh look, it’s the little exorcist that could.”  Abaddon’s stolen features twisted.  “It’s good to see you.  Really, it is.  I was curious about you.  Kind of annoyed that you dumped me back into the pit, but you know – details.”  She waved a hand.  “I asked around, and boy are you a hot topic of conversation downstairs!  ‘The Little Prince,’ they call you.  Only not so little, I suppose.”  She glanced at Dean with John’s eyes and smirked.  “How does it feel, Dean?  Being the ‘big brother’ to royalty?”

            “Get out of my father,” Dean ordered her.  He didn’t even look at Sam.  Sam wasn’t surprised.

            “I don’t think so.  I like having a Winchester meat suit.  It’s comfortable.  Powerful.  Designed for other uses, but you know demons.  Never could follow orders.”  She smirked.  “Or so Johnny here has always said.”

            Sam’s stomach roiled, and he found himself grateful that he’d skipped food on the way here.   He glanced at Jess and at Josie.  Both nodded.  Then he took a deep breath and began the exorcism.

            Abaddon squirmed.  “Really, Sam?  Are you sure you want to do that?  Way I see it you’ve got the best of both possible worlds right now.  Because you want no part of what your father has in mind for you, and you and me – we’ve got more in common than you think.”  She gestured and Henry went flying across the field.  “Let’s talk, Sammy.”

            “I thought you were supposed to lay down a devil’s trap!” Josie hissed to Bobby.

            “I did!” Bobby hissed back, as Sam continued with the exorcism.  “In the damn barn.  You were supposed to draw her into the damn barn!”

            “You think you might have wanted to clue the college crowd in on the plan before we got started?” Dean yelled.  “Sammy!  Don’t you stop!”

            Sam rolled his eyes as the Latin continued to pour forth from his mouth.  He hadn’t planned to stop, wasn’t going to stop.  He gained nothing from pulling back.  “I’m literally the only one who can teach you how to use what’s in your blood, Sammy.”  Abaddon’s voice beckoned, so like his father’s but welcoming, alluring.  “I may not think Azazel’s plan was even close to half baked, but since you’re here?  I can show you things you never dreamed of.  Power beyond your wildest dreams.  The ground itself began to shake, sending Pastor Jim to the ground.  “Everyone who ever hurt you will be crushed under your boots.”

            Sam continued to recite.  Beside him, Jess murmured in Old Slavonic and gestured with both hands.  Sam could feel the power radiating from her, long lavender ropes reaching out toward the demon.  They didn’t _have_ to shoot his father.  He reached out with his own energy and lent it to his fiancée even as he continued to speak.  They hadn’t practiced this before, not under battle conditions, but he knew that their energies meshed well.  Today was no exception, and her bonds on Abaddon strengthened.

            The demon’s stolen body started to sweat.  “I tried the carrot.  Now it’s time for the stick.  You can send me back to Hell, Sammy-boy, but you know damn well that I’ll climb right back out.  And when I do, the first thing I’m going to do is find that brother of yours.  And I’m going to take those pretty, pretty eyes of his for trophies!”

            “ _Te rogamus, audi nos!”_ Sam completed with a gasp.

            As the final sounds of Sam’s voice rang out over the field, John’s head flew back and an impossible quantity of oily black smoke came pouring out.  Something inside of Sam twitched; it wanted to reach out to the smoke and… well, he couldn’t quite identify what he wanted to do to Abaddon’s demonic essence, but he didn’t think it was good.

            He didn’t have time to analyze it, however.  Josie whipped the jar out from under her coat as soon as Abaddon emerged from John Winchester.  Abaddon was pulled into the jar.  Sam got a sense of resistance; he heard screams that he somehow knew weren’t audible on this plane, felt the pull almost of a black hole.  His hair, alone of the humans present, moved as Abaddon used everything she had to avoid the confinement.

            There was nothing she could do.  While Sam couldn’t quite grasp the physics of how a being so huge could fit into such a small jar, or into a body like John’s or Josie’s, the smoke finally disappeared and Josie closed the lid with firmness that Sam thought restrained, all things considered.  “It’s safe now,” she said, breathing deeply and smiling.  “I’ll want to put a seal on this thing, but we can research that later.”

            Henry had managed to drag himself back over to the rest of the group.  He threw his arms around Josie and held her close.  “She’s gone.”

            Josie set the jar down and just melted into Henry’s arms.  They didn’t kiss, didn’t do anything that would’ve been inappropriate for their own time, but Sam still looked away.  As he did, he noticed that everyone else seemed to be finding something else to look at.

            Dean, Sam noticed, was staring at him.  It was hard to quantify what, exactly Dean’s expression meant, and how sad was that?  There had been a time when he could have practically read Dean’s every thought based on the slightest twitch in his brother’s eyebrow.  Now he found himself swallowing against a lump in his throat, composed of equal parts fear and grief.  What was that old song?  “ _You can always go home, you just can’t stay?”_

            The moment broke.  Dean turned away and raced to his father’s side.  “He’s alive,” the young hunter told them all, relief making him look ten years younger.  “He’s alive.”

            Josie pulled her jacket closer to herself.  “It’s best if you get him someplace warm.  Getting ridden by something like that… well, it’s not easy on a body.  They ride you hard and put you away wet.”  Henry snaked an arm around her shoulders.  “He’ll need a lot of looking after.”

            “That’s what I’m here for.”  Dean’s jaw clenched.  “I’m his son.”

            Sam couldn’t take that, all that his brother’s words implied.  He squeezed Jess’ hand and retreated to the car.  Jess, Henry and Josie joined him after a few minutes, presumably making their goodbyes.  Josie carried the demon jar.

            No one spoke as they drove back to the bunker.  “I’ll start researching ways to put some kind of a seal on this thing,” Josie promised.  “I know in theory that she can’t open it, but I’ll feel better if it’s… more permanent than that.”

            Sam supposed he could sympathize with that, or at least empathize.  “Makes sense.  I spotted some chairs in the library; it’s been a long day for all of us.  Maybe we should wait for next steps until tomorrow?”

            Henry’s entire demeanor changed.  He stepped forward, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  After a second, Sam recognized it as an affectionate gesture.  “Sam.  You did well today.  I’m so, so proud of you.  You were incredibly strong out there, you and Jess.”

            Jess touched her lips to his.  “We do make a pretty good team.”

            Sam forced himself to relax.  He was being an idiot, mourning for something that could never have happened.  He needed to appreciate today for the huge win it had been and not obsess over anything else.  “Thanks.  And yeah.  We do.”  He kissed Jess back and retreated to the library.  He’d react better in the morning.

*

            Dean moved on autopilot.  Sam hadn’t waited around, hadn’t checked on Dad, had just slunk off when the thing was over.  Henry had stuck around to be sure.  Even Sam’s still-nameless fiancée, the one who hadn’t been shy about casting some kind of spell to help him with that exorcism and that was something Dean definitely didn’t want to think about right now, had stuck around longer than Sam.  But hey – why would today be any different than any other time?

            Between Dean, Bobby and Pastor Jim they managed to get Dad back to the Impala.  From there, they drove back to the motel that Bobby had been thoughtful enough to secure ahead of time.  “Thanks for setting this up, Bobby,” he said with a heavy sigh, wrangling his dad’s inert form into one of the queen beds.  “I never got the chance.”

            “Well, I did have about a three hour head start on you.”  Bobby gave him a thin little smile and sank down into one of the chairs.  “How are you holding up, son?  That whole mess must have done a number on you.”

            “Bobby, it ain’t about me.”  Dean wrestled his father’s left boot off as Jim took care of the right.  Dad’s the one who was hurting.  We need to focus on him.  I mean, he was possessed by a superdemon!”

            “I know that, Dean.”  Bobby shook his head.  “And he’ll have some stuff to work through, sure.  But humor me here and let’s talk about you.  I mean, you ain’t seen hide nor hair of Sammy in what, two years?”

            “Something like.”  Dean gritted his teeth.  “What’s your point?”

            Jim sighed and put a hand on his shoulder.  “You guys worked pretty well together.  Like you hadn’t missed a beat.”

            Dean rolled his neck and chuckled.  “We always did.”  He swallowed.  “Where’d he learn that exorcism?  I mean, Dad never taught us about demons and stuff, not until after he left.  And he just fired that thing off like it’s routine for him.”

            “I guess in a way it kind of is.”  The priest grimaced and went to sit near Bobby.  “Your father suspected something was after Sam.  He’s had some issues; had to learn a few things here and there.  Fortunately for him, he met Jess.  Jess has a bit of… let’s say she knows a thing or two.  It’s come in handy.”

            “I’m sure.”  Dean considered taking off his father’s jeans, to make him more comfortable, but decided against it.  After losing control of his body to such a creature he might not find comfort in losing his pants.  “Is he okay?”

            “Ask him yourself, Dean.”  Jim folded his lips together.

            “Jim, he walked away.”

            “He might have had his reasons.”  Bobby sighed.  “I’m not saying that Sam doesn’t have his defects, and I get that you and your dad had your reasons for kicking him to the curb.  But he’s the one that faced down that superdemon and saved your daddy tonight, him and that pretty blonde of his.  It ain’t like we gave him a warm welcome, either.”

            “It’s complicated, Bobby.”  Dean turned his head to look at his father’s face.

            “It really isn’t, Dean.”  Jim gave him a gentle smile.  “The choice is yours.”

            Dean nodded a little, but Jim didn’t get it.  Neither did Bobby, not really, although Bobby understood better than Jim did.  Sammy had saved them, sure.  And Dean was grateful, he was, but what good was it for Sam to save them if he wasn’t going to stick around?  Yeah, he couldn’t stay.  Dean got that, but he could have stuck around to say hello to the brother that had bandaged him up on hunts and tried his best to keep the family together.  He could have checked on the father who had carried him along everywhere despite his taint…

            Except that was why he hadn’t stayed, wasn’t it?  Dad hadn’t told Sammy what he knew; hell, Dean wasn’t dumb enough to think that Dad had told _him_ everything he knew, and Dean wasn’t that smart.  But since when had Sam ever been content to get his information from Dad?  Sam would have found out from somewhere, and he probably knew more than Dad did about it by now.  Everyone kept telling him that Sammy was terrified, was afraid for his life from his family and maybe Dean needed to step up and take a stand.  Dean loved his brother.  He couldn’t hurt Sammy, not for real.  He couldn’t let someone else do it either.  As a general rule he trusted his dad to know what was right and to make the decisions, but when it came to Sammy Dean had to admit that John had a few blind spots.

            For now, he couldn’t do much.  He’d seen the kid; Sammy’d been running on coffee and adrenaline for a few days, if Dean was any judge.  He knew the boy.  He knew that when Sam had a bee up his skirt about something he’d keep going until he dealt with it or someone clubbed him over the head and knocked him out, no matter what.  Now that Abaddon was dealt with and the crisis averted he’d probably be crashing hard in some other hotel, and if not Dean was going to have a long talk with Blondie and with Gramps.

            The next morning, John woke up.  His body didn’t seem to be damaged by his ordeal, but the dark circles under his eyes and the tremor to his hands spoke volumes about his ordeal.  “How you feeling, Johnny?” Bobby asked him.

            John still had enough left in him to make a face.  “I must have been in dire straits if you’re here without your shotgun.”

            “How much do you remember?” Jim asked him, peering intently at the grizzled face.

            John hesitated.  “Enough.  I remember enough.”   He swallowed.  “I remember everything up until she got pulled out of me.”

            Jim filled him in on the solution that the Men of Letters had come up with.  “So it looks like the demon isn’t a factor anymore.”  He gave John a confident, encouraging smile.  “I’m going to go and get some breakfast for the bunch of us, okay?  I’ll be back.”

            Bobby joined him, leaving Dean and John alone together.

            The Winchesters sat in uncomfortable silence for a good five minutes.  Dean tried not to squirm.  Then John spoke.  “Son.”

            “It wasn’t you,” Dean said, almost before his father got the word out.  “Whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t you.”

            “I know that.”  He narrowed his eyes, but Dean knew his father was just paying lip service.  He’d never met a possession survivor who hadn’t been haunted by the act long after the exorcism.  “I just… Sammy did this.”

            “This is not Sam’s fault!” Dean growled.  “The only thing he did was to face down that thing and come out on top, you hear me?”  He blinked, realizing that he’d risen to his feet and leaned across the table, leaning into his father’s space.

            His father gave an exhausted chuckle.  “Stand down, tiger.  I know that.  Better than anyone else, I know that, okay?  I.  Uh.  I think we should maybe get together with them.  If they’re still in town.”

            Dean fell back into his seat with an audible “thud.”  His jaw hung open.  “Excuse me?”

            “I still don’t agree with Henry and Josie getting into the spellwork and all that nonsense.  I just don’t hold with that.  But it’s not like Bobby Singer doesn’t play that way.  Maybe it’s time for an old man to open his mind a little bit.  Being possessed by _her…_ well, it taught me to see some things differently.  Or at least to be willing to try.”  He blew out a long, slow breath.

            Dean nodded slowly.  “Yeah.  I see what you mean.  I’ll get Jim to call them when he gets back.  Don’t want to spook Sammy, you know?”

            John nodded.

            When Jim returned he agreed to call the Men of Letters.  He went outside to do it.  Dean tried not to listen in, but he couldn’t help but overhear a quiet, insistent argument.  What if they were too late?  What if Sammy didn’t want to meet up with him anymore?  What if they’d left already?  What if Sammy had worked himself up into such a lather about them wanting to kill him – which had totally not been the case, but he could see where Sammy might have gotten that idea.

            Finally, after a good ten minutes, Jim came back into the room.  “Alright.  They’re willing to meet up back at that field where we met up last night.”

            Bobby rolled his eyes.  “Hopefully Farmer Brown won’t mind.”

            Dean snorted.  “If Farmer Brown didn’t notice last night’s little showdown he’s not going to care tonight.  What time?”

            “They’re working on an extra seal for that jar right now.  Tonight, around midnight.”  Jim smiled.

            Dean couldn’t sit still for the rest of the day.  He kept busy cleaning their equipment and fussing over his father, until John started to get snappish about chicken soup.  He went for a run on the frozen ground and did sit-ups on the grungy carpet until his entire midsection burned.  And then he paced.

            Finally it was time.  Jim drove; he wasn’t trusting Dean behind the wheel, and John admitted that he still wasn’t quite feeling a hundred percent.  Dean rode in the back with Bobby, who patted his shoulder companionably.  “It’s going to be okay, son,” he murmured.

            “What if he doesn’t want us anymore, Bobby?” Dean whispered.  “What if he just turns us away?  I mean he’s got this shiny new family –“

            “I didn’t see much of them, and they do sound like they’re a lot like Sam, but Dean – they ain’t you.  Ain’t no one Sam’s ever thought about more than you, kid.”  Bobby shook his head.  “You’re his number one.  You always were, and you always will be.  Even if you’re not right in front of each other at the time.”

            Dean bit his cheek.  If he’d been Sammy’s number one, Sammy wouldn’t have left.  Still, he had to hold out a little hope, or else he wouldn’t be here, right?

            Finally, they pulled up to the field and got out of the car.  Dean could see the little cluster of people, over near the barn.  There was Josie, unimpressed but supportive, and she was holding Henry’s hand.  Henry’s face looked drawn and wary, eyes glued to John.  The blonde who was going to marry Dean’s Sammy stood on Henry’s other side, just about the same height as the patriarch, and wasn’t that a feat?  Sammy’d found a girl who didn’t have to stand on tiptoes to kiss him.  Her arm had been around her fiancé’s waist, but it fell to her side as Sam stepped forward.

            Sam almost didn’t look like he was in control of his own movements.  He staggered forward, like he was being pulled along by some kind of rope.  Dean could sympathize; he probably didn’t look much better.  He couldn’t have stopped himself from going to Sam if he’d nailed his own feet to the ground.

            Nothing else existed: not the cold December air, not Dad and Bobby and Jim, not Henry and Josie and what-was-her-name.  There might have been stars in the sky, but Dean couldn’t have said one way or another.  Right here and right now, there was nothing and no one in the world but him and Sammy.

            They met in the middle of the field, stopping just shy of physical contact.  Dean wanted to reach out, but he held back.  He didn’t feel he had the right.  He’d put fear in his baby brother.  He hadn’t meant to, not even close, but it had happened all the same.  But maybe Sammy felt the same; maybe he was just as nervous and awkward as Dean.  And what was up with this?  When Sam had left for college they’d been about the same height, now Dean had to look up to meet his eyes.

            Those hazel orbs shone down into Dean’s, full of fear and love and regret at the same time.  “Dean,” Sam exhaled, and there was so much in that one word, that one name.  Maybe it was the time, or the distance that had existed between them, but Dean could actually _hear_ what Bobby had been talking about in the car.

            He reached out and put his hands on Sammy’s thin canvas coat.  “I’m here, Sammy.”

            That little bit of contact was like a crack in a dam.  Sam wrapped his long gorilla arms around Dean and held on for dear life, bending his neck so he could bury his face on his brother’s shoulder.  “Dean,” he said again.  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

            Dean understood.  Sam had missed him, but he’d been terrified for him too.  “I’m okay, Sammy.  Thanks to you.”

            Sam squeezed a little tighter, and when the hell had the kid gotten so strong?  “I couldn’t let her have you.”

            Dean squeezed back, and lost himself in the pleasure of the presence of his brother.

            Later, there would be time for the greater reunion, he knew.  Dad was probably having a similar moment with Henry.  Dean still wanted to meet Sammy’s girl, the woman who was brave enough to stand at his side when he faced down a demon.  And maybe Henry and Josie deserved another chance, too.  They’d brought his Sam back to him, after all.

            But right now, it was just him and Sam.  The rest of them could wait.

 

 


End file.
